


Cardinal Flight

by Ahmose_Inarus



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, Canon Het Relationship, F/M, Gen, M/M, Major Original Character(s), Minor Original Character(s), Original Character-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2018-10-13 20:59:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 95,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10521738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ahmose_Inarus/pseuds/Ahmose_Inarus
Summary: Years ago, a small group belonging to the League of Assassins broke away from the League and fled, determined to live their own lives by their own rules.  They eventually settled down in the southern US, on the border of Texas and New Mexico, and made a life with their families.  But it was only a matter of time before the League would catch up, and make them pay for their mutiny.  Only one survived when this day came, a fifteen year old boy named Michael.  For months, he fled the League of Assassins, desperate to live his own life on his own terms.  His flight lands him in Gotham City, and into the hands of a group of vigilantes who can teach him how to fight, that he may live.An original character I made up when I was in early grade school has evolved for over two decades to finally have his own story...  Posting primarily for a few friends.  Aside froM OC's, I try to keep it canon, but it's a bit of a mash of of pre & post New 52 canons...





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Again... Original Character Centric. If that ain't yer thing, turn back now. Flames will be posted on Facebook to be mocked.

ON THE BORDER OF NORTH WEST TEXAS AND NORTH EAST NEW MEXICO…

________________________________________

The red hills were dark, lit only by the pale light of the moon and stars, and even they were slowly being obscured by the massive wall cloud moving in, bringing with it a line of vicious storms. Every now and then lightning could be seen, illuminating the towering thunderhead. A coyote yapped and yowled somewhere to the south and a barbed wire fence squeaked as its old weathered posts shivered in the sharp wind, and the dried tumbleweed rattled softly in response. A dozen yards away from the fence an old windmill creaked and groaned, its blades turning. Nearby, large dark hulks stood, snoozing. But an ear flicked, and one of the cows raised her head and turned in the direction of the fence. Then, she grunted and bawled and the other cows jerked awake and ran, stampeding away from the dark figure sneaking along the fence line.

“Damn.” The figure hissed, knowing that his cover had likely just been blown. But the teenage boy continued moving. Clad in black from head to toe, with only his amber eyes showing, he hoped that the darkness would keep him cloaked.

“… GOTCHA!” 

The boy gasped and whirled, staring with wide eyes at the tall figure on the top of one of the red hills, holding a bow and arrow. He quickly raised his hand, a throwing star glinting in the moon, but with a sharp twang and hiss—

THUNK!

“AH! NO!” The boy cried, the throwing star falling to the ground as he stared at his wrist, pinned to the pole of the fence with an arrow through the sleeve. Then the larger figure was skidding down the hill, drawing his blade. The boy fumbled to draw a weapon himself with his left hand, but before he knew it the larger figure was already on him. The blade swung and he blocked it with a knife, but was unprepared. The knife was knocked from his hand and the blade was to his throat. A moment later, the boy groaned and slumped.

“… Yield.” He spat, angrily.

The larger figure lowered his blade and pulled the dark hood from his head, revealing a young man with a tanned face, blue eyes and hair bleached blonde by the sun.

“That was good, Michael.” He announced, pulling his arrow from the boy’s sleeve and freeing him, then giving him a hand to his feet. “You got closer than ever.”

“How far?” Michael asked, pulling off his own cowl and fixing his golden eyes on his elder companion.

“… twenty yards.”

“Are you serious?!” Michael howled, glaring as his companion pointed to the ridge he had appeared over, where several other black-clad children had appeared. Michael realized from the numbers that his entire team had been caught. “… STUPID CATTLE!!!”

The kids on the ridge laughed and jeered and threw playful insults at him. The blonde boy just grinned and punched Michael in the shoulder. “You’re damn good, kid. A helluva lot better than I was at your age.”

“You’re only three years older than me, Gabe.”

Gabe shrugged, watching the other kids skitter down the hill towards them.

“End game?” Asked a twelve year old girl as she removed her cowl.

“Ohhhh… one more! PLEASE?” whined a younger child.

“That WAS one more!” Gabe laughed, looking around at all the kids. There were sixteen of them, ranging in age from ten to nineteen. He himself was the oldest, and therefore the leader. Michael was the second oldest, just turned fifteen, and therefore was his second. At least, they were in charge when the adults weren't around.

“Pleeeeease?” Came another whine, and several children joined in. Michael could see Gabe caving but knew that they had to get home, so he spoke up with “I’m tired guys. I just wanna go home and lick my wounds.” The kids groaned in disappointment, but then began teasing Michael again for letting cattle give away his position. They all sheathed their weapons and tucked their cowls into their belts and began the two mile trek back to the compound.

They were on a ranch. It was nearly 1,000 acres and spanned the state lines between Texas and New Mexico. The compound itself was in Texas, but they had decided to play their games in New Mexico that evening, heading out right after dinner.

The adults had asked Gabe and Michael to take the kids out for a game of capture the flag so that they could… talk. The kids had all been chattering and excited on the way out, but now that they knew they were soon on their way to their beds, they were realizing how tired they were. Michael and Gabe led the way, walking shoulder to shoulder.

“… It’s bad news, isn’t it?” Michael murmured, speaking of what the adults had to talk about, without the kids listening in. Gabe sighed, glancing back to make sure that the other kids weren’t paying attention.

“It may be.”

“What is it?”

“Do you remember, when you were twelve, you asked me why—“

“If our parents came out here to live a life of peace, why do they teach us to kill?” Michael nodded, remembering this very well. “You told me that they had betrayed the League of Assassins and ran away, but the League does not forgive deserters and would kill us if they find us. And they wanted us to know how to protect ourselves from the League.” Gabe nodded, and Michael frowned. “… wait… Gabe. Has… have they found us? The League of Assassins?!”

“Shhh…” Gabe hushed as Michael had raised his voice in alarm. He glanced back, reassuring himself that the other children still weren’t paying attention. “They may have. The meeting is to try and find out if our location has been compromised, and if so, what to do.”

“Evacuate?” Michael asked.

“Maybe.” Gabe nodded. The pair thought of the barn that the children were not allowed into, save with adult escort. Inside, were vehicles. Black SUV’s and motorcycles that were always kept in good condition. And against one wall, were shelves. Shelves covered in black, heavy duty backpacks. Everyone aged ten and over had one. They were packed with supplies. Emergency supplies, should they ever have to run on a moment’s notice. It was a drill practiced once a month. It was unannounced and always came by surprise, day or night, rain, snow, or shine… They all practiced suiting up and running out to the barn, grabbing their own back packs and being in place in the transportation… all within five minutes. Quite a feat for nearly a hundred people…

“Michael.” He froze as he heard how tense Gabe sounded. He looked up, and followed the older boy’s gaze. There was smoke on the horizon… dark and blotting out the stars, with an orange glow lighting it from below.

“… That’s home!” A girl gasped and bolted. Gabe lashed out, quick as lightning, and caught her by the wrist. 

“Everyone listen!” He commanded, and the children fell silent. “This is no game, this is no drill. We move in together and head for the ridge. Stay low, stay silent, we must NOT be seen.” And he turned and darted away, pulling his hood over his head again. As one, the others followed, running silently over the red dirt ground, pulling on their cowls and fingering their weapons, making sure that everything was in place. 

They ran the mile back at a rapid pace. It was nothing new to them, they ran five miles several times a week; the elder pair often ran even more. The children immediately followed the lead of Michael and Gabe, creeping up to the ridge and peering over the edge, looking down onto the compound… their home… burning.

Soft gasps rose from the throats of the children, while Gabe growled. “They found us…”

“That’s the League?”

“A team from the League, yeah.” Gabe nodded to Michael. “Has to be.”

“We can’t take them.” Michael said. 

“We won’t try.” Gabe nodded.

Michael turned and stared at him, eyes wide. “What? What do we do?”

“Our jobs. If we ever were invaded like this, we have to get the kids out.” Gabe said. “But we’ll need a distraction.” Michael was silent for a long moment, then nodded. 

“I’ll distract them.” He said softly. “I’m faster and the more acrobatic of the pair of us. I’ll be a harder target to hit. That and YOU can drive and know the roads around here. I’m still learning.”

Gabe looked at his younger companion, then nodded. “Follow us on one of the bikes. I know you can handle them well. And Michael… don’t get killed.”

“I don’t plan to.” Michael said with a smirk in his tone, and he raised his arm. The pair gently clanked the metal gauntlets on their right forearms together and then Michael darted off to the side, while Gabe began to herd the children to the north to pick their way down the ridge and make their way to the barn. Michael in the meantime headed to the south, intending to draw the attention of the ninjas to himself, and away from the barn…

In the middle of the compound, the League had gathered the entire population of the little fringe group. The adults, nearly fifty of them between thirty and seventy four, were all kneeling on the ground, arms tied behind their backs, arranged in rows. Off to the side, the younger children had been contained. The eldest of these was ten, the youngest was nearly two… Michael felt dread in his heart… surely the little ones wouldn’t be killed…?!

He slowly crept behind a large tan boulder, and then darted behind one of the small houses, clamoring onto the roof and slipping towards the edge to overlook the captured people… his parents among them.

Forty year old Theo D’Ambrosio and his wife, Midori, were side by side on their knees at the end of the second row. Michael saw Gabe’s parents, Israel and Miriam, on the other end of the row. The front row was the elders of the group, including the Master. He was nearly seventy five, and was the leader of this group of people who had betrayed the League of Assassins and fled twenty years ago, wanting nothing to do with the life of bringing death. And so they had come to America and settled on the old ranch, building a small village to raise their children in. Of course, they had trained their children as Assassins, knowing that the League would hunt them down, but they wanted their children to have the ability to fight to defend their freedom. 

To their neighbors, they were merely a small, mysterious cult who kept to themselves and never made trouble. They were friendly with their neighbors, provided the neighbors were friendly with them and did not trespass onto their land… they could not afford to let anyone know who and what they really were. But now, it didn’t matter. The League had caught up with them, and had every intention to spill their blood…

Michael narrowed his eyes and focused… One Assassin seemed to be taking the lead.

“Where are they, old man?!” He was shouting, his accent thick… Michael tentatively placed it as Turkish. He backhanded the Master, and Michael grit his teeth in anger. 

“There are no others.” The Master said, calmly.

“LIES!” The Assassin barked, and held a hand back. One of the other assassin’s placed a picture frame in his hand, and he threw it to the ground. The glass shattered, but the photo remained unharmed. A family smiled up out of it. It showed Israel and Miriam and their three children; Gabe, his thirteen year old sister, Elizabeth, and his seven year old sister, Esther. Esther was among the captured children, while Elizabeth was making her way to the barn with her brother. Michael’s heart pounded. He had to get the other children to the barn, too… His attention was drawn back by the Assassin.

“There are older children!” He was shouting, throwing more pictures down that were showing families with older children. He was sure that his own image was in one of those frames…

Michael glanced across the compound and saw Gabe at the corner of the barn… he just had to sneak through the door, but there were so many ninjas… It was time for a distraction. Michael rose and stood tall, drawing his compound bow and nocking an arrow, taking aim at one of the assassins guarding the children. He held his breath, and let the missile fly.

“AAHG!” Screamed the assassin, a woman, and she crumpled to the ground with an arrow in her neck. Everyone turned, just in time to see an arrow appear in the neck of another assassin. Eyes were drawn up by the motion of Michael readying another arrow, and sending a third one flying, leaving only two guarding the children. But now all eyes were on him. 

He ripped off his cowl and allowed them to see his face. “Looking for me?!” He called. The lead assassin narrowed his eyes and one of the others knelt and picked up a frame, handing it to him. He glanced at the photograph of the family and then up at the youth on the rooftop, who had drawn his katana. It was the same boy; ivory skin over a Mediterranean bone structure, brilliant amber eyes with a slight exotic slant to them and long, wavy black hair. The son of the couple that had been dragged out of bed together… the Greco-Italian man and the Japanese-Italian woman.

“… bring him. Alive.” The Assassin leader growled, and the assassins moved. The boy grinned, looking almost playfully delighted before he turned and vanished into the darkness, his taunting laughter drifting back through the thick night air and echoed by a soft roll of thunder from the incoming storm. The assassin turned his eyes to the parents of the boy. They tried to maintain a brave façade, but he could see both pride, and concern for their son in their eyes.

“Lying to me…” He growled to his captives, “is never a good idea.” And he nodded. Theo D’Ambrosio cried out as his wife, Midori, was dragged from his side. She struggled, kicking her feet and twisting her hands to try and escape her bonds, but she was unable to. Tears had come to her eyes as she was forced to her knees before the adults of the compound, and a blade was placed against her throat. The Assassin leaned over and whispered into her ear, then drew the blade across her neck. Theo let out an animalistic roar of grief as the front row of captives was showered in the arterial spray, his wife’s hot blood dripping down their faces and to the dusty ground. She thrashed, eyes wide, coughing and gurgling before she collapsed. Her black eyes lifted to gaze into her husband’s eyes, the eyes that her son had inherited. They locked gazes and she gave a brave smile, before falling still… And then, blades were flashing and blood spurted in fountains as the assassins began to methodically move down the lines, cutting the throats of the traitors until a sudden roar was heard, and the doors of the barn exploded outwards. Lights blazed as a large, black SUV barreled forwards and spun, turning and shooting off down the road.

“AFTER THEM!” Shouted the leader, and a half dozen assassins ran to do so…

________________________________________

Michael darted across the land, dodging between mesquite trees, spinning around boulders and leaping over the dark brush with ease. Already, someone unfamiliar with the area would be lost. The rocks, ridges and ravines were like a maze, and he aimed to get his pursuers as lost as possible. But he had to seek out a way to throw them from his trail… He hurtled a barbed wire fence… he was now on the neighbor’s land. A cattle rancher, the man was aging and frustrated that his children had no interest in the family business. It was only a matter of time before he would be selling his herd. But for now, they would save Michael’s life. He topped a ridge and leaped into a controlled tumble down the steep slope, hearing his pursuers close behind him. And then he heard nothing but the stamping hooves and startled grunts and moos of the cattle.

“CATCH HIM!” He heard a voice shout as he ran with the cows, and then heard a man shriek in pain, and a snap and crunch… he had been trampled by the stampeding cattle. Michael moved with the herd, not against, knowing that it would be foolishly fatal to try and make his own way. But the assassins knew nothing of cattle, and were soon lost among over two hundred head, and in the dust and chaos, Michael darted out of the stampede and scrambled up the hill, disappearing over the peak unseen… He headed back to the compound then, determined to save his family.

But he was too late…

“No…” He gasped, standing on the roof overlooking the open area lit by the houses that were still burning. It was not the scene he had left… it was not the people he loved, kneeling down on the ground in neat rows…

It was a graveyard. A massacre… There were bodies everywhere, horrific amounts of blood soaking into the burnt orange soil. And there were no assassins, or children, in sight. Slowly, the bow he had ready slipped from his fingers and clattered down to the rooftop, sliding down its slope and falling to the dust, just as his feet lightly hit the ground and carried him over to the pile of bodies.

“Dad?! Mom!” He cried, skidding to a stop and falling to his knees beside her, tears in his eyes. “Mom…” His hand hovered over her face, fingers trembling.

“Michael.” He gasped and turned. The old Master lay there, bleeding out. Unlike the others, who’d had their throats cut, he had been gutted, his entrails spilled out over the ground. Michael scrambled over to him, instinctively assessing the man’s wounds; his heart fell. He could not save the man…

“Master?” Michael gasped, eyes wide.

“Listen to me, son…” The Master breathed. “They’ve gone after the others, and taken the children. You have to help Gabe get the others to safety. Don’t worry about the little ones, they will not be harmed. But Gabe and the older kids… they’ll kill you if you don’t surrender.”

“We WON’T surrender!”

“I know, Michael.” The Master gasped, wincing. He gripped the young man’s knee. “Listen to me, boy. Get your backpack… and get my satchel. Inside is a phone. Keep it off unless you’re using it… but don’t use it often. The c-contacts are… everyone we know of in the country… who… who can help.”

“Okay.” Michael said, but the Master shook his head, blood flying from his lips as he coughed.

“Be careful… not everyone WILL help… they are merely those with--with the… ability to help…” The man gasped, his voice growing weaker. Michael nodded, fighting to keep his composure. “Be brave. Honor us… do NOT… become one of them…”

“I won’t.” Michael gasped.

“Good. Go.”

“But—“

“Go! That is an order, boy!” The Master cried, grimacing. Michael stared at him a moment, then got up and moved for the barn. But he stopped.

“… Dad.” Trembling, he approached his father, the body of another man lying across Theo’s legs. Theo’s dark brown shoulder length hair was strewn about his head, soaked in his own blood. His golden eyes stared off into the distance at the incoming storm, glazed and empty. Michael pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, fighting back a sob as he slowly knelt, eyes falling to the blood-spattered medal of Saint Michael on his father’s chest. Michael unclasped it and gently slid the chain away from his father’s cut throat, before fastening it around his own neck. Then he reached out and closed his father’s eyes, bowing and resting his forehead against Theo’s for a moment, sniffling and swallowing down the excruciating lump in his throat.

He straightened with a gasp, blinking away tears, then slowly stood and backed away. His foot came down on something hard, and he heard glass cracking. He lifted his foot and looked down. His own smiling face stared back, his mother and father at his shoulders. Slowly, knelt and brushed the glass away, pulling the glossy photo from the broken frame. Then he stared around at the bodies, and bolted for the barn. Inside, he hurried to the shelf and tugged his backpack from its place, stuffing the photo in as he scurried down to where the Master’s satchel was. He quickly ran over to one of the motorcycles and opened one of the saddlebags, dumping the contents of the Master’s satchel into one, then digging out the phone and tucking it into one of the little pouches on his belt. Then he snatched several backpacks belonging to the dead and emptied them into the saddle bags until they were full, and only then did he tug on his own backpack. But he had to ensure he would not be followed. He rolled away the motorcycle towards the door of the barn and then ran back to the other motorcycles and cars, opening the caps on the gas tanks, stuffing paper towels into them and letting them trail down to the dusty floor. Then he seized a gas can from the corner of the barn and began to fling the gasoline over the bikes and cars until they were all dripping. He began to pour a trail back towards the barn door, where he mounted the metal machine he had prepared. He revved the engine and turned on the headlight, then stared out into the smoky night. He took a deep breath as he heard shouts outside, and knew that some of his pursuers had made it back.

The assassins rolled to the side as the motorcycle roared out, its rider holding out a metal gas can, pouring a trail as he went. And then he passed a burning house and dropped the can. Within seconds the can was alight, and the fire was blazing a trail back towards the barn.

Michael narrowed his eyes and stepped on the gas, shooting off down the road as the explosions rocked the compound and sent the barn up in a burning fireball. The machine roared loudly in his ears, vibrated between his legs and the wind stung his eyes. Despite the horror of the situation, he felt a soaring elation at the speed he was traveling. He had learned to drive the bikes at fourteen years of age, but only on the twisting dirt roads of the compound. When he hit the pavement of a street at the border of the ranch he had been born into and grown up on, he felt like he was flying… He could see taillights in the distance and heard a smatter of gunfire, and so he rushed to the aid of his friends.

They were no ordinary children, however, and as inexperienced as they were, they were giving the League of Assassins a challenge. As he approached, he saw them leaning out of windows and firing arrows into tires, bullets through windshields and shuriken and throwing stars at the Assassins on motorcycles.

Michael drew his sword and accelerated, eyes on the jeep in front of him. As he drove by, he slashed the back tire and then swerved away as the vehicle began to wobble dramatically, before flipping over and tumbling into a ditch. He didn’t even spare a glance. He shot past two motorcycles and another jeep, pulling up level with the SUV carrying his companions. They cheered when they saw him, and Gabe shot him a grin as Michael drew level with the driver’s side window. It was shattered, and there was blood running down Gabe’s face, but he looked to be alright otherwise, and relieved to see Michael. 

Michael allowed the bike to slow down and he fell in behind the SUV, scattering caltrops over the street behind them, hearing several satisfying bangs from tires, followed by crashes. More cheers rose from the SUV.

But then he heard the scream of an engine, and a pair of motorcycles roared up. One of the riders had drawn his own sword and swung it at Michael. He hit the brakes and the assassin shot past him, his sword completely missing. But then his heart leaped into his throat. The other assassin pulled up and threw something into the open window of the SUV, and then both hit the brakes. The SUV only went another fifty yards…

The explosion was earth shattering. Michael felt the world fall away. Everything around him seemed to fade to black. He couldn’t feel the wind on his face, nor the motorcycle beneath him… all he could see was the fireball blossoming into the sky. All he could feel was the heat… all he could hear was the roar, and for a moment, it was as though he could hear the screams, for just that split second, before the throats that uttered them were incinerated…

An eternity passed. Hours of horror. And finally, when the earth came back, he realized that it had only been seconds. His heart pounded and his head spun. He was sitting on the side of the road, the motorcycle idling calmly as lightning split the skies and thunder rolled overhead.

Gone.

They were all gone. Everyone. He was the last. Alone.

But the assassins would have no loose ends. The two motorcycles carrying the ninja assassins appeared on either side of the burning wreckage of the SUV that fifteen children had been crammed into… Their blades were drawn and ready, and Michael reached for his own with clammy hands, trembling. Whether it was in fear, anger, grief or rage, he didn’t know. He wanted to kill them. But he knew he wouldn’t stand a chance. He was a fifteen year old boy facing down two seasoned assassins with more on the way. 

He blinked as he heard the first soft tapping around him, and then the drops of rain fell onto what little of his face that was exposed. He had to uphold the honor of everyone on the compound… his family. And to do that, he had to live.

The back tire of the motorcycle squealed loudly on the pavement as the machine was whipped around. The front wheel came up off of the ground and for a moment he nearly lost control, but then he was charging down the highway as the rain began to come down in torrents. He heard the engines roaring behind him, and so he drew a grenade from his saddlebag, pulled the pin and dropped it. Seconds later, he heard the blast. 

He didn’t bother to look behind him. He just kept going. And going…

And going…

The rain soaked him down, hiding the tears he refused to admit were there, as he fled west into the storm, the lightning reflecting off of the Saint Michael medal on his chest as the rain washed away the blood of his father…


	2. Finish Line

6 months later…

________________________________________

Michael Alexander D’Ambrosio stared at himself in the motel mirror, inspecting what he saw. And what he saw was a fifteen (and one half) year old boy, who was all alone; A soul that was suffering, but with a fire that he would not allow to go out. His golden amber eyes that used to sparkle as a child only six months ago, now smoldered and burned with the determination of a man who would survive, no matter what. His torso was bare, revealing a trim, athletic body with defined musculature covered in pale, alabaster skin that he inherited from his mother, and the chiseled, but not overbearing Greco-Roman features of his father; he had a strong brow, but a more delicate nose than most men of his ancestry, probably influenced by his mother’s pixie nose. His long black hair was thick and filled with light curls and waves and fell to his waist; he nearly always kept it plaited in a tight braid.

Slowly, he brushed the pad of his thumb over the gold Saint Michael medal on his chest, then lifted his wrist and began to unwind the bandage that was wrapped around it. It fell away, revealing a long, thick scab. He examined the injury closely, washed it, and then re-bandaged it with a lighter covering, flexing his hand and fingers, testing his mobility.

He had been on the run for nearly half a year, and at first he had managed to keep a good amount of distance between himself and the League, but over the last month they had caught up and he was having trouble losing them. He had just wreaked havoc across a mall in Metropolis, defending himself from nearly a dozen of the League; that was the source of his injury. He had barely escaped the notice of Superman… three members of the League had not been as lucky. He had seen Metropolis’ favorite son flying away with three assassins clutched in his fist by the backs of their shirts while he himself slipped away, prepared to head south. 

He’d not had much luck with the contacts in the Master’s phone… he had been right. Everyone on that list had the ABILITY to help him, but not the will. Hell, several of them had tried to kill him. And some names he recognized on the list, he wouldn’t even TRY… Others, he had trouble finding. When he made it to Star City, it was only to find that Green Arrow was out of the country… and the League chased him out of town before the vigilante could return…

He was quickly running out of options, and with the League on his heels he was running out of time… and energy. The dark circles under his eyes betrayed that. He was barely sleeping, never having the time, and when he DID have the time he never felt safe enough. 

A soft scratching sound from the front door of his motel room reached his ears, and instantly his eyes were burning. Moving in complete silence, which was shocking considering the speed of his movements, he gathered his belongings into the back pack, finished dressing and got the metal gauntlets on his wrists in place, then wedged a chair under the door latch before he turned and ran for the bathroom, closing the door behind himself. He pulled a length of rope from his backpack, its ends frayed from being shorn off. He tied one end around the doorknob and the other around the toilet base, keeping it shut. Then he turned and smashed the bathroom window, using the hand towel to ensure all the glass was gone before shoving his backpack through, and then heaving himself up and beginning to wriggle through. A maid stood by the dumpster, staring at him with wide eyes. She watched as the boy managed to make it out and flipped as he fell, landing in a crouch, just as a bang was heard from inside of the room. 

The boy grabbed his backpack and ran as a louder crash was heard. It was followed by several more, then gunshots. The maid screamed and ran as Michael darted around the corner of the building and heading out front, towards his motorcycle. The thing had been his only friend on the road, and the only thing he could rely on. Needless to say, when he skidded to a stop and saw it had been completely trashed, he felt his hope drain away. The tires were slashed, the gas tank was open and sugar was seen on the edge of it; the saddle bags were empty. In addition, pieces of the engine were all over the ground…

His heart was pounding as he looked around. He couldn’t mourn the machine… as he saw the assassins pour out of his room and point him out, he turned and ran across the street. Horns blared and cars slammed on their brakes. He numbly dodged and hurtled the hoods of the vehicles, not intimidated. An eighteen wheeler’s horn nearly deafened him, and tired screamed as the brakes locked up. The truck shot past him and he leapt forwards, tucking and rolling under the trailer, narrowly missing being hit by the back tires, but he made it and disappeared into an alley, taking a flying leap and seizing the ladder of a fire escape and beginning to climb. 

He was nearly to the roof by the time the assassins managed to make it through the chaos he had made on the street, but they were swiftly in pursuit and he knew they wouldn’t stop. He reached the roof and ran, tugging his cowl into place. He had to find transportation. He had to get out of Bludhaven. He had to head south down the coast… he had to get to Gotham. His next chance to find help was there… hell… with as close as the assassins were, and as exhausted as he was… Gotham might be his LAST chance for help. But then, a voice caught him by surprise.

“Okay, pal…” He gasped and skidded to a stop at the call. “I don’t know what you’re here for… but if you’re here for trouble, your little jaunt ends now. This city is under MY protection.” Michael turned and stared. A man stood there on a chimney, the moon shining down on him. He was tall, muscular and athletic with black hair. He wore a black armored suit with a splash of red across the chest and shoulders, stylized to look like a bird in flight, and he wore a black winged mask over his eyes. A pair of steel escrima sticks were in his hands. He was holding them lightly at the moment, but Michael could tell that the man was no amateur… he knew what he was doing. 

Michael glanced back behind him, and then returned his gaze to this new threat. The man before him looked back as well, to see what the little ninja before him was looking at. And he spotted the dozen assassins streaking towards them, weapons ready.

“Aw, hell…” the man grumbled. “Not a solo act, I see.” And he raised his weapons and prepared to fight.

“… You’re crazy.” Michael blurted.

“What?”

“You can’t fight them all!”

“Them?”

“What, you think I’m one of them?”

“You’re not?”

“No! They’re trying to kill me! And I don’t plan to stick around and let them!” Michael snapped. “But if you want to fight, be my guest!” And he turned and ran.

“Wait, what?! WAIT!” The man in black yelled, startled. But only a split second later, he gasped as an arrow whistled by his head and—

“AAAHG!” 

He watched as Michael stumbled, arching his back in pain as an arrow sunk into his shoulder just to the side of his shoulder blade. A moment later he pitched forwards and crashed to the rooftop, reaching a shaking hand towards the arrow.

“Shit.” The vigilante groaned, then hurled down some flash and bang rounds and regurgitive gas pellets. Shouts went up from the ninjas as the flash and bang rounds temporarily blinded them and left their ears ringing, and then the smoke screen went to throw them into further confusion as they ripped off their face masks and began to barf all over the place. Then he turned and ran to the boy on the ground.

“Hold still, I’ll get it out.”

“No time, just break it off.” Michael groaned. “That won’t stop them.”

The man frowned and reached out, pulling the cowl from Michael’s head, and his eyes widened. “Damn… you’re just a kid! Look, I don’t know what you did to piss them off, but I won’t let them hurt you.” And he snapped off the arrow, then jerked it out.

Michael half screamed, half laughed. “I don’t know who you are—“

“Nightwing.”

“—but you can’t help.”

“I can. Just come with me. I’ll get you somewhere safe, and we’ll get you patched up.”

“You can’t keep me safe.” Michael groaned, stumbling to his feet and shoving Nightwing off. “Run, while you can.” And he headed for the edge of the roof.

“I can help you, kid!”

“No you can’t. You’re not on the list. My only chance is in Gotham.”

“List? Gotham?!” Nightwing asked, but Michael just replaced his hood and mask and leapt off of the edge of the roof. Nightwing was about to go after him when the assassins finally came charging towards him. “… Dammit.” He muttered and pulled his escrima sticks getting between the boy and the assassins, prepared to at least hold them off to allow the boy to escape. But the ninja assassins were determined. Nightwing had to use everything in his arsenal just to delay them by a matter of minutes. It was immediately clear just how determined they were to catch their quarry… Nightwing was left behind unharmed, but baffled.

He immediately turned and strode away, pulling his cell out and making a call.

“… What.” Came the low rumbling answer.

“Batman, I’m coming into the Gotham. You have a situation heading your way.”

“What kind of situation?”

“I’m not sure… I just came across a little ninja… He’s just a kid, Bruce. Fifteen, sixteen… and he was being chased by a dozen adult ninja assassins… I’m not sure, but I think they were from the League. And they were damn determined. They pretty much ignored me, but they’re out for this kid’s blood. He got away from me and they followed. But he told me that his only chance for survival is in Gotham.”

“So they’re coming here.” Batman said.

“Yes.”

“… I’ll get Tim out here to help locate them.” Batman said. “Thanks for the heads up. We have to find this kid before the League catches up to him and find out what’s going on.”

“You got it. I’ll be there soon.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Michael leapt off of a building and onto a tree branch, scampered along its length before dropping into the parking lot of a used car dealership. He looked around, then pulled a tool from his back pack and after a bit of finagling, he opened the door of the sports car and slid in, tossing the backpack into the passenger seat, leaning over and reaching under the dash board and hotwiring the thing. It sparked several times before the engine roared to life.

“Okay… okay…” Michael breathed, wincing at his burning shoulder. “Come on now… it’s not your first time driving a car…” He hissed as he leaned his back against the seat, adjusting it and his mirrors before mumbling, “Oh thank God… it’s not manual.” He put the car into drive and stepped on the gas. The tires screamed and a moment later the car crashed through the gate of the used car dealership and shot off down the road, heading south towards Gotham. He merged onto the interstate and accelerated rapidly, soon cruising at 85 mph and weaving in and out of traffic.

He had just left the Bludhaven city limits when he saw the flashing lights in his rearview. He let out a harassed sigh and muttered “Don’t think so, officer, sorry…” And he sped up, pulling out the cell phone and dialing.

“… 911, what is your emergency?”

“I’m being pursued southbound by a police officer.” He said, “plate number Z43-HJN. I’m in a black sports car going about 90. Tell him to back the hell off.”

“Sir, we’re going to need you to pull over.” The woman said firmly.

“Like hell I am.” Michael snorted. “You listen to me. I’m being chased. And not by the cops. I’ve already been shot and if I stop now, I’ll be killed. If your officer gets between them and me, they’ll kill HIM, so you get him off of my ass right now, for HIS sake.” And he hung up, rolled down the window and hurled the phone out as he crossed a bridge, sending it into the water. He had no use for the thing anymore… if he had no luck in Gotham, he wouldn’t survive long enough to track down anyone else on the list.

He glanced back in the rearview mirror, and cursed. Two more police cars had joined the first. “Your funerals…” He spat, scowling. He had warned them… if they wouldn’t listen, there was nothing he could do. A moment later, he heard the thrumming of a helicopter, and then then a spotlight fell upon the car. “Turn that thing off!!!” He howled at no one in particular. He was now a sitting duck; the assassins would be able to pinpoint him with no problem, now. 

“County Police Department! Pull the vehicle over, now!” Boomed the voice over the loud speaker.

“… Fuck that.” Michael muttered, flipping on the radio and scanning through stations before cranking up the volume and blasting Disturbed’s “Indestructible” loud enough to blow the speakers, increasing his speed to 110. If he was going down now, he’d at least try to have a good time doing it.

He swerved around some cars, but the traffic was thinning out. It didn’t take long to see why… More time had passed than he had thought; before him was the suspension bridge that would take him out of the county, and straight over the river into Gotham City… and the bridge was blocked. Apparently the county cops had called ahead and GCPD was there, ready and waiting.

Michael let out a few colorful swears that would have landed him in serious trouble with his mother, God rest her soul, then set his jaw and slammed his foot down, pushing the accelerator all the way to the floor. The engine gave a satisfying roar as the car rocketed forwards, just as a member of the GCPD called out over a bullhorn “bring your vehicle to a complete stop and-- STOP! Or we will open fire! We will—STOP!!! FIRE!!! FIRE FIRE FIRE!!! SHIT!!!” And then the noise was deafening. Michael just closed his eyes, held the steering wheel steady, and ducked. The car was hit with a barrage of bullets, and then he heard the tires blow as he plowed straight over the spike strip in the road and through the orange and white plastic barricade. He sat up then, having passed through the barricade and slammed on the breaks, jerking the wheel to the side. Metal screamed and sparks flew from the bare rims as the car spun all the way around to face the cops again, coming to a jarring halt against the concrete guard at the side of the bridge. 

Both GCPD and county police were scrambling now, pointing their guns at the car. Michael fumbled for his back pack that was on the floor and gripped the scabbard of his katana, while pulling a couple of marbles from his belt. He waited a moment, then squeezed them until they burst, sucking in his breath. The smoke bombs did their job, quickly filling the car with a thick, white cloud and creeping out of the cracks and holes left by bullets in the windshield. Michael got to his knees and twisted, putting one fist through the driver’s side window, then thrusting the bottom of his scabbard through the passenger window. The smoke billowed out and into the air, and then he shoved the hilt of his sword through the moon-roof before bursting through it himself. The smoke surrounded him, obscuring his body from the eyes of the panicked police as he slid off of the back of the car and ran, tugging his back pack onto his back and tucking his sword into his belt.

A shout went up when he was nearly fifty yards away; they had finally spotted him. Michael didn’t look back. He did what he had been doing for the last six months; he ran. But the bridge was long. It was long, it was empty, and the police had cars and a helicopter. And within seconds, the spotlight was on him. But then there was a commotion, and seconds later the helicopter was joined by two more… but their lights weren’t on Michael. He dared a glance behind him and his gut congealed. The choppers had their lights on numerous dark figures that were darting up the main cables of the suspension bridge; the assassins had caught up with him. Again.

Michael groaned, but he wasn’t ready to give up yet. He swerved and ran to the side of the bridge, the helicopter swiveling its light to follow him. He reached the edge and didn’t even hesitate; He jumped. As he plummeted down towards the river he twisted, readying his grappling hook, spinning it and then throwing. His heart was pounding as he waited to see if all of his practice and training had paid off…

“YES!!!” He cried in elation as his hook found its mark. The line pulled taught and his downward plunge turned into a long swing under the bridge. Already Michael was climbing hand over hand, pulling himself up to one of the maintenance walks under the main road of the bridge. He reached it and heaved himself onto the metal walkway, grabbing his hook and running, coiling the line as he went. His eyes were on the lights of the city, growing steadily closer. Those lights were the beacons of hope. But there was one light in particular he had to reach. 

Behind him, the police chopper had dropped and its light was sweeping the water of the river, looking for his body. He grinned in triumph as he heard gun shots; the assassins had engaged the cops. He was almost home free!

Before he knew it, he had reached the end of the bridge and found himself disappearing into the alleys of the city, before making his way to the roof tops. He glanced back at the suspension bridge, and sighed in relief. The assassins would be on his trail before long. He had only bought himself some time. An hour, maybe. As close to their quarry as they were, the assassins would not let up now… but it was enough. Michael began his final trek, the home stretch, heading straight towards the Gotham City Police Department Headquarters. He had studied maps of the city; he knew exactly where to go. And he knew exactly what he would find on the roof. If he could just get there… if he could just get the light on… and then if he could just hold out until his final chance at help arrived…

And then, if he was given help…

He just might survive until morning. But he was tired. He was wounded. He could feel the fatigue from blood loss creeping into his limbs, and he blinked away the clouding of his mind, encouraging his adrenaline to keep pumping… to keep him going. Just a little bit longer… a little bit further… he was almost there.

And then, he was looking at it. Two blocks away, and he could see it; The large, dark hulk on the roof of the GCPD HQ. He kept running, leaping a black chasm between two buildings and from there one final leap, breaking his fall by gripping the ledge of the building. He pulled himself up onto the ledge and then kept climbing, using every single crack and crevice to climb the façade of the brick building. Up one level, then another, and another. His body was screaming, the six months of running finally catching up to him. But he didn’t stop. He was so close!

His mind had gone deaf to his body, too focused on his goal, just as he had always been trained to do. It was mind over matter… with the right focus, he could push his body beyond its limits. And then, he was there. He was at the top, standing on the edge of the roof. His chest was heaving and sweat ran down his face, and he could feel it trickling down his back. Though that could have been blood… But it didn’t matter. He had made it. His heart pounding and adrenaline continuing to flow, he dropped off of the ledge to the gravel of the rooftop, and walked towards the large, dark hulk before him. Slowly he skirted around it, circling until he was facing it head on. A great dark spotlight, its glass lens obscured by the sturdy cutout set in the middle…

Michael slowly moved closer and reached out, laying his hand on the lever. He curled his fingers around it, the metal warm on the humid spring night. He stared, his dry throat constricting, but then he frowned in his determination, tightened his grip and pushed it up. There was a loud clack and then the buzz of the electricity, and the roof was flooded with light. Michael swallowed, and then slowly turned and looked up.

The Bat-Signal pierced through the darkness, glowing brightly against the black sky. Michael just stared at it for a long time, admiring it. But then, suddenly, his body wouldn’t be ignored any longer and he felt his legs begin to tremble. He stumbled backwards and managed to guide himself up against the wall of the small building jutting out of the roof, where the stairs down into the GCPD were hidden. He leaned against the wall and slowly allowed himself to slide down to the ground, his exhaustion finally catching up to him. 

He glanced up at the Bat-Signal again, and then bowed his head. And before he knew it, his body was relaxing and his eyes were falling closed, and no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t keep them open any longer. But it didn’t matter. Whatever would happen now, whatever fate may have had in store for him, he was done running. He couldn’t do it anymore. 

Live or die, he was done…


	3. Battle Wounds

Gotham City Police Commissioner James Gordon was a man of many virtues. But no matter how virtuous he was, having an insane showdown between his officers, the county sheriff’s department and a bunch of trigger-happy blade-wielding ninjas was bound to test him. As it was, he was quite done with the shenanigans that the night had thrown at him. 

He sat in the passenger seat of the police cruiser, Veteran Detective Harvey Bullock sitting beside him at the wheel. The heavyset man was chewing on a cigar, not about to light it up and piss off his boss more than he already was.

“… What a nightmare.” Gordon finally groaned from beside him. Bullock glanced over at the Commissioner as the older man wearily drew his glasses off of his face and rubbing his eyes before pinching the bridge of his nose, grimacing as he tried to fight off the migraine he felt building in his skull. 

“Sheriff Smith is a real piece of work.” Bullock commiserated. This, however, drew a pained smile from James Gordon.

“Sheriff Smith is a good man. But you and he are so much alike, you can’t stand each other.” He announced, much to Bullock’s dismay. “I just wish they would have told us about that 911 call sooner.”

“… You think the driver of that car is dead, then?”

“Surviving that drop into the river would be a bit hard. And certainly painful.” Gordon nodded. “If he did live, he would have a helluva current to fight. If he went into the river, odds are someone will be fishing his body out down the coast somewhere. But they never saw any sign of him. If he was like those other ninjas, he may have never hit the water at all. Which means he’s loose in this city. Along with the other ninjas.”

“… Just what we need. More freaks.” Bullock growled.

“Either way… I need to let HIM know what happened.” Gordon said, turning and staring out the window at nothing in particular.

“… Hey Commish?” Bullock asked after a moment. “Were you wanting to talk to… him, ASAP?”

“Probably. Why?”

“You ask someone to call him in for you?” 

“No. Why?”

“The Signal is on.”

“What?!” Gordon yelped, leaning forwards and looking up. And sure enough the light was on, shining in the sky. “Son of a… Bullock, step on it!”

“Yessir!” The detective growled, turning on the lights and sirens. 

They arrived within ten minutes, and Gordon was out of the car before it had even stopped moving. He ran for the door and pushed through, hurrying to the elevator. Bullock jogged after him, after haphazardly parking the car and tossing the keys to a rookie officer, telling him to park the car properly as he chased his superior. He stumbled into the elevator just in time. The doors closed and they began the journey to the roof. 

Bullock could see that Gordon was tense, and he scowled. He didn’t much care for HIM… Hell, he didn’t like HIM at all. But Gordon trusted HIM, and he trusted Gordon. They reached the roof level and Gordon slipped through the doors as they opened wide enough to permit him to squeeze through, and he took the short flight of steps two at a time. Then he was at the door. He pushed it open and stepped out onto the roof, eyes on the spotlight. He darted around it, eyes sweeping the roof. He didn’t see anyone…

“What the devil?” He murmured, slowly approaching the Bat-Signal. But then, he heard a whoosh from the other end of the roof and he turned.

“Jim.” Bullock frowned, but turned to watch as HE emerged from the darkness, partially stepping into the light of the Signal.

James Gordon looked his old friend and ally in the eye, and nodded. Then he jabbed his thumb over his shoulder at the Signal. “Are you calling me, this time?” He asked. 

Batman was silent for a long moment and then said “No.” Gordon blinked. “I was responding to it. You didn’t turn it on?”

“No.” Gordon admitted. “I was on my way back from dealing with a situation on the—“

“I’m aware of it.” Batman said. “Nightwing has informed me that a band of ninja assassins were on their way here from Bludhaven.”

“… You could have told me!” Gordon growled.

“This was new information.” Batman said simply. A moment later, he turned. Gordon and Bullock followed his gaze just in time to watch another figure land lightly on the roof. He approached them.

“Nightwing.” Batman greeted, and Nightwing nodded to him.

“I heard over the radio that you had a run in with the ninjas.” The younger vigilante said, turning to Gordon. The pair shook hands, silently greeting one another, and Nightwing nodded to Bullock.

“We did.” Gordon confirmed. “You followed them here?”

“Yeah.” Nightwing said, looking around. “They were chasing a kid.”

“A kid?” Bullock asked.

“… Him?” Batman suddenly spoke. Nightwing, who had been opening his mouth to answer, closed it and turned. Batman was staring past Gordon and Bullock, then began to move across the roof. The two officers stepped out of his path, and followed his line of sight. Only then did they notice the dark shape curled up against the wall, neatly tucked into the shadows.

Nightwing moved to stand beside Batman, a dozen feet away from boy.

“… that’s him.” He nodded, and moved forwards. He only made it three steps before the boy’s fingers twitched and his eye fluttered. Despite how tired he was, the instinct was too ingrained for him to miss someone approaching, even in sleep. In a flash, the inert body erupted into action, the ring of steel deafening as the katana was drawn from its scabbard by a well-practiced hand.

“HYAA!!!”

“Whoa!” Nightwing yelped, and raised his arm. The blade glanced off of his gauntlet, sparks showering, but a knee buried itself into his gut and the pair toppled to the rooftop, grappling. But then, the boy halted his struggles. Nightwing watched the amber eyes in the shadows of the hood widen in surprise and recognition.

“… You?!” He blurted, and then he was rapidly retreating, though not by choice. A powerful hand on his shoulder jerked him back and spun him around, and as he stumbled it transferred its grip to the front of his shirt, fisting tightly in the material and lifting his feet right off of the ground. As one hand did all of that, another had seized the wrist of his sword arm and fingers dug into the nerves while twisting, and with a clatter and a yelp, the sword was released and fell to the ground. Thrashing and kicking in the air, the boy finally managed to set eyes on what had attacked him. A moment later he stilled, his eyes widening once more.

“… You.” He breathed, his voice barely audible. His hands simply clutched at the Dark Knight’s wrist, not tightly, but simply as though he needed to hold onto something. Batman felt the tension leave the young man’s body and slowly, he lowered him to the ground and released him. The masked boy stepped back, rubbing his wrist; he had a feeling that the scabbed over wound had been re-opened.

“Who are you.” The Batman demanded, his tone low and deadly. To the side, Nightwing collected the boy’s katana, holding it lightly by the hilt and cradling it in his arm, allowing the blunt side of the blade to rest across his lower arm and in the crook of his elbow. “Why did you call me here?!”

At the second question an answer came, not from the boy, but from Commissioner Gordon who was kneeling where the boy had been resting. “He’s wounded. I’ve got blood over here.” A dark smear was on the wall, where his back had been resting.

Batman didn’t remove his eyes from the boy, however. A moment later, Nightwing said “I saw him take an arrow in the back in Bludhaven.” And then he moved closer to the little staring showdown happening between the young ninja and the veteran vigilante. “Who are those guys that are trying to kill you?” He asked.

“… Will you help me?” The boy asked instead. Batman narrowed his eyes.

“We won’t let them kill you.” Nightwing responded.

“You’re not on the list.” The boy retorted, then looked at Batman. “HE is.”

“What list.” Batman said.

“… A list of people who can help. I’ve gone through several of them. But just because they COULD help, didn’t mean that they would. And out of the ones I’ve found, none of them wanted to help. Will you?”

“Who is after you?”

“… The League of Assassins.”

“Why.”

“Why else does the League go after anyone?!” The boy retorted, voice dripping in sarcasm.

“What did you do to get their attention?” Nightwing asked.

“… Nothing.”

“Hnh.” Was Batman’s response.

“Nothing, I swear!” The boy nearly shouted, looking half angry, and half scared “I inherited this!”

“What do you mean?” Nightwing asked.

But the boy never got a chance to answer. Batman turned his head slightly, and then whirled. His cape whipped out and billowed up into the air, and the flash of light on metal caught Nightwing’s eye; three little darts were embedded in Batman’s cape, and their intended target had been the boy.

“Shit.” Nightwing hissed. Once again, he was seeing that these assassins meant business. Those darts had been on a direct path to the boy’s neck. And then, with what almost sounded like a desperate sob, the boy burst out from behind the Dark Knight’s cape, eyes blazing, and he snatched his katana from Nightwing as he ran. But this time, he wasn’t running away. The assassins came flying down from the next roof over, and the boy ran to meet them.

Nightwing didn’t hesitate, he ran after him. He had just told the kid that they wouldn’t let the League kill him, and he was not about to be made into a liar. “Get out of here!” He heard Batman thunder behind him, and Bullock wrestled Gordon back inside and off of the roof, the pair of them shouting and arguing with each other the whole way. Batman was immediately running by Nightwing’s side, and they watched the sparks shower down as the boy clashed blades with the first of the assassins. The steel rang out loudly as the pair wasted no time; their moves were quick and concise, one aiming to kill, the other just trying to stay alive.

The boy was strictly on defense and was being forced back, the fully grown assassin clearly more experienced. A second assassin took a flying leap, a twisted knife in his hand. The boy tucked and rolled to the side, then rolled again as a third assassin brought his sword down. When he came out of his roll the boy abandoned his sword, after a fourth assassin pinned it to the roof with his foot. He rolled back and flipped to his feet, pulling a pair of kama that were strapped to his thighs and raising them, ready to fight. Slowly, he and the other assassins circled around one another. He held his kama before his face, one arm straight out and the other bent, the blade of the kama before his eyes protecting his face. 

A moment later and Batman and Nightwing moved in. The three stood firm, back to back, surrounded by the assassins. “Thirteen…” Nightwing said with a smirk. “That’s it?”

“There are more…” The boy growled, an undercurrent of trepidation in his tone. “There are ALWAYS more.” The response to his words were yelps across the rooftop, and then two, three, four thuds. A slender figure with a long cape stepped into the light, smirking and carrying a staff over his shoulder, and dragging an unconscious ninja. He dropped the man unceremoniously.

“Couldn’t wait for me?” He asked, and Nightwing grinned, saying “We’re not holding back the party just because ONE guy is late.” 

“You're a jerk.” Said the young man in black and red. He brought his staff off of his shoulder and spun it with practiced ease, asking “So… What’s the game?” The assassins shifted, eyeing the newcomer, not pleased with his arrival.

“Stop those assassins from killing… THIS assassin.” Nightwing said, jerking his head towards the kid behind him.

“I’m NOT an assassin!” The boy spat.

“Red Robin.” Said one of the League of Assassins. “Stay out of this. The Master does not wish you harm.”

Red Robin snorted. “You can tell Ra’s that if he doesn’t want me harmed, then he can keep his nose, and all of his lackeys, OUT of Gotham and out of my way. I’m NOT staying out of his.”

“Infidel!” Shouted one, while the others cried out their displeasure at his words. “You will NOT speak of the Master with such disrespect!”

“This is America, boys.” Red Robin said, taking a fighting stance. “And I’m an American Citizen. I have the right to Free Speech, and I’m gonna use it. Ra’s is not my Master and I’ll talk about him in any way I want.” And he leapt forward, twisting gracefully in the air as he brought his staff around in a wide arch, and then slammed it down with enough force to disarm the assassin who had tried to block his strike with his sword. Nightwing grinned, launching into the fight with his escrima sticks and Batman spun, his cape swirling around and then letting out a sharp SNAP as he lashed one of the weighted tips across an assassin’s face, sending the warrior spinning the ground.

Michael looked around in amazement. This was the first time that he’d been fighting with help. This was the first time that he wasn’t fighting alone. And the three men around him moved like a well-oiled machine; they knew what one another was going to do before they did it. They worked together, passing opponents off and moving onto another if a teammate was in a better position. They were seamless. And it was watching them that Michael understood what the Master had been trying to teach the young ninjas-in-training back home when he had them team up and told them “you are ONE unit, act like it! Move like it! FIGHT LIKE IT!!!”

Michael had thought that they would, but the Master would brush it off and call them sloppy. And now, watching this trio, he realized that the Master was right. In fact, he had been NICE when he merely called them ‘sloppy’. They had been a complete fiasco. For the first time in what felt like years, a smile touched his lips and his eyes sparkled as he turned spun his kama in his hands and lunged at a ninja that was stumbling back from a kick to the shoulder. 

Red Robin checked his pursuit and watched as the ninja they were protecting leapt up into the air, executing a graceful butterfly kick that ended with the sound of snapping bone, and the assassin went down. Michael pivoted on his landing, raising his kama and crossing them over his head to block the strike from a Chinese broadsword. He shoved his attacker back, but before he could follow up on his attack, the Batman brought him down with a vicious back fist and axe kick. He didn’t even spare a glance at Michael; he just turned and tackled another assassin to the ground who had been moving in behind Nightwing, knocking him senseless with a punch to the head.

Michael turned, bringing his attention back to the fight. But it wasn’t going well for the assassins, and they realized it. All of a sudden, as one, they disengaged the vigilantes and the five remaining assassins all charged straight for Michael, two pulling guns. His eyes widened in shock and he felt the dread creep into him, but he narrowed his eyes, grit his teeth and met their attack with one of his own. For a moment, he seemed to do alright; he could see the vigilantes running to his aid. But then there was a trail of fire across his bicep, a snap and intense pain from his wrist, and then his hands were empty, weapons gone, there was a deafening bang and then…

Darkness.

________________________________________

Only minutes had passed. The door to the roof opened and James Gordon came bursting out, nearly two dozen SWAT behind him, guns up and ready. But then, slowly, they lowered them.

“Sorry.” Red Robin said with a grin. “You missed the all the fun.” And he gestured around to the nearly two dozen assassins scattered about. Some were groaning and writhing in pain. The others were still, knocked out cold. Batman and Nightwing were currently rolling the body of one ninja off of another. Then they stared down at the boy who had come to them for help. He lay back on the roof, his limbs haphazardly splayed around him and his eyes were closed.

“Hey kid,” Nightwing called, shaking his shoulder. He looked up at Batman when he got no response. Red Robin walked over then, peering down curiously as Nightwing cursed. “He’s been shot.”

“We need to get him to the cave.” Batman said already ripping the boy’s shirt away, revealing the wound in his abdomen. He used the shirt to bind the wound tightly, and then lifted the boy up and over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold.

“He needs a hospital.” Nightwing argued.

“If the League of Assassins is after him, they’ll find him. We take him to a hospital, and he’ll die before sunup. Get his things, ride in with Red Robin.” And Batman turned and dove over the edge of the roof.

“What now?” Gordon asked, jogging over as SWAT gathered up all the assassins. Red Robin and Nightwing strode across the roof, Nightwing gathering the boy’s weapons, Red Robin his backpack.

“We hide him, and we keep him away from the assassins,” Nightwing said. “Beyond that, we don’t know.” 

And the pair dropped off of the roof, leaving Gordon to deal with the mess of injured assassins. Slowly, Gordon turned and walked across the roof, and shut off the Bat-Signal with a weary sigh.

________________________________________

The canopy of the Batmobile opened with a hiss as its master approached. Carefully, Batman lay the wounded body across the hood and checked his pulse. It was light, but steady. Regardless, the young warrior had lost a lot of blood. Batman gently set the boy into the passenger seat and maneuvered it to recline back slightly, then got him buckled in. Then he pulled a bag of fluids from a compartment and used a batarang to cut open the ninja’s sleeve. He swabbed the inside of his arm and skillfully placed the IV catheter, hooked up the line and started the fluids running, trying to replenish something; he would see if a transfusion was needed when he got to the cave.

He hopped into the driver’s seat and the canopy slid back and sealed, the engine roared to life and its headlights flooded the alley. A moment later and the silence of the streets were shattered as the massive black beast tore down the road, a smaller red vehicle falling in line behind it. The two cars’ engines pushed them faster and faster, until they were all but flying.

They made their way out of Gotham City and into the suburbs, and then on the dark, forested road that would take them home. Then they were on the back road that was well hidden and unknown to all but them. They were on the Wayne Estate grounds now, and approaching the cliff. A waterfall cascaded down the stone façade on the other side of the ravine, but then a drawbridge dropped down through the curtain of water, spanning the abyss. The cars shot over the bridge, through the wall of water, and into the dark, dark tunnel beyond. The bridge raised up behind them, leaving no sign of its presence behind the waterfall.

The dark tunnel opened up suddenly into a massive cavern dimly lit with electric lights, and filled with steel. The red car pulled up onto a platform to the side, while the Batmobile came to a stop on a circular platform in the middle of the vast space, the floor beneath it rotating slowly.

An aging man in a suit glanced up as the canopy opened, but then returned his attention to his work, preparing a small alcove filled with medical equipment to receive a patient. And then he heard the deep staccato sounds of boots striding towards him, and the cape billowing behind. These were followed by the more chaotic sounds of two others scrambling to catch up.

Without looking up the man stepped aside, allowing the Batman to lay the body in his arms onto the bed, and said “Brought home another stray, then, sir?” as he took the bag of IV fluids from where it had been wedged between Batman’s jaw and shoulder and hung it on the IV hook.

“Gunshot wound to the thoracic cavity, arrow wound to the left scapular region, laceration to the right bicep and laceration from a blow to the right side of the head. That’s all we know of at the moment.” Batman said, not even acknowledging the little jab from the old man by his side. 

“Dear Lord…” The old man breathed as he removed the face mask and cowl from the body before him.

“Alfred?” Nightwing asked, looking up.

“He’s not much younger than Master Timothy.” The old butler sighed, looking pained. 

“However old he is, he did SOMETHING to piss off the League of Assassins pretty good,” Nightwing said inspecting the face of the youth, as did Batman and Red Robin.

“The League?” Alfred asked.

“That’s who did this to him.” Red Robin nodded, removing the gauntlets from the boy’s wrist. “I have a healing laceration that was re-opened over here on his lower arm... won't need stitches, just a good cleaning, bandage, maybe some antiseptic ointment...”

“Pretty colorful bruising here on his shins. Most of them look like defensive bruising…” Nightwing said as he wrestled off the boots that went up to the boy’s knees.

“Do we know anything about him?” Alfred asked.

“We don’t even know his name.” Nightwing said, pursing his lips and scowling.

“We need to find out,” Batman said, removing his cape and cowl and then his gloves, before opening a pack of sterile latex-free gloves and pulling them on, removing the make-shift bandage from the boy’s torso, revealing the gunshot wound. As he prodded it, the boy moaned and his fingers twitched.

“He’s waking up.” Red Robin said, moving closer to the boy’s head.

“Get the answers we need fast, Tim,” said Bruce Wayne, pulling up a shot of morphine into a syringe while Alfred began to draw up the Propofol and prepare the endotracheal tube. A moment later and a soft beeping filled their ears as the heart monitor was placed.

Slowly the boy opened his eyes, blinking sluggishly.

“Hey.” Red Robin said, giving him a slight smile. The young ninja turned and looked at him.

“… Where’m I?”

“Someplace safe. They won’t find you here. Don’t move. You’re wounded and we’re going to patch you up, but I need you to answer some questions for me, okay?”

The boy stared at him for a long moment then swallowed thickly, closing his eyes and nodding.

“What’s your name?” Tim asked, the three other men around the bed listening intently.

“… M-Michael.” Came the soft answer. 

“How old are you, Michael?”

“Fifteen.”

“Do you have any conditions or medical allergies?” Red Robin asked, using a pair of shears to cut off the remains of Michael’s shirt.

“Whuh? Mm… no.”

“Do you know your blood type, Michael?”

“… Type? Um… No. Type O? …Not sure… Nnh…”

“Okay. That’s good, Michael. You did good. Just rest now. We’ll take care of you, and figure things out when you wake up, okay?”

“N-Not… gonna die now.” Michael murmured, a slight smile crossing his otherwise lax features. “Made a promise… Gonna… see it through.”

“That’s the spirit, young sir.” Alfred said gently. “But now is the time to sleep…” And he injected a few drugs into the port on the boy’s IV line, and his eyes quickly fell closed. Red Robin held Michael’s head still as Alfred placed the trach tube with a practiced hand, and then Red Robin got the oxygen started. Then the four men worked, wordlessly. Michael was stripped naked and every inch of his body was inspected closely for injury. Red Robin and Nightwing began to scrub his body clean while Bruce and Alfred patched up his injuries. The bullet was removed and the bleeding stopped. The boy was lucky; the internal damage was minimal, and easily repaired. Lacerations were cleaned out and stitched closed, his broken wrist was set and then immobilized in a light splint, and a blood transfusion was given. 

And finally, as the horizon began to gray with the approach of dawn, he was moved into recovery and Alfred saw the three warriors under his care bathed, changed and fed.

Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson and Timothy Drake stood around the bed and stared at the sleeping teenager.

“Come along now,” Alfred chided, gently. “He will sleep for quite a while, and you won’t be getting any answers until he awakens. To bed with you all.”

“We’ll rest, but we’re staying down here.” Bruce growled. “We don’t know if he can be trusted. He’s not to be left alone. Especially here.” Tim and Dick both gave silent nods of agreement and the trio moved about, getting out cots, setting them up and finally bedding down, more than ready for some sleep. 

While Alfred was not pleased that they were refusing to sleep up in the manor in their proper beds, he knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. The three men were willing to sleep. That was more than enough for him. And so Alfred headed upstairs, more than ready to retire himself…


	4. Line in the Sand

It was that obnoxiously persistent beeping that pulled Michael from his deep sleep that was drug induced, but exhaustion enhanced. He groaned weakly in frustration as he found his body was slow and reluctant to respond to his mental commands to move. It took an intense effort to force his eyes open, but when he did he furrowed his brow in confusion; he had no idea as to his whereabouts. It appeared that he was in a cave. But it was lit softly with electric lights. He could hear the hum of machinery, and the distant rustling and squeaks of… bats. 

His eyes widened and he slowly turned his head, looking around a bit more. His gaze fell on the IV bag and line, and followed the line to the catheter placed in his arm… and then to the pulse oximeter on his index finger. He blinked several times, and then made a face when he finally noticed the nasal cannula, and the splint on his wrist. 

He inhaled deeply, then slowly managed to get his limbs to respond. He pushed the pulse oximeter off of his finger, making the heart monitor shriek in protest, and he tugged the cannula from his face, beginning to force himself into a sitting position, the sheet falling from his chest and into his lap.

A few yards away, Dick Grayson opened his eyes and looked up, hearing the heart monitor’s panic. He blinked, and then rapidly put his winged mask on, then rose from his bed. His movement drew the eyes of the young man in the hospital bed. Nightwing approached slowly so as not to startle the boy and turned off the aggravating machine, ceasing its screaming. Then he turned to Michael, who was silently inspecting the man wearing a simple pair of navy blue jogging pants and mask. He reached out and took Michael’s wrist, pressing his index and middle finger to the underside and looking down at his watch.

“Pulse looks good.” He said softly, releasing Michael’s wrist but then gently laying his hand on the teenager’s bare chest, pushing him to lie down again. Michael didn’t resist. He lay back and let out a relieved sigh; he had been tired out by the simple act of sitting up. He closed his eyes and swallowed, grimacing. “Here.” He opened his eyes again, and found Nightwing offering him a straw from a glass. “Drink slowly.” Michael hesitated for only a moment, then accepted the straw and began to sip the water.

“Hey.” He and Nightwing both turned. Red Robin stood there, also wearing his mask and a pair of black sweat pants, but he wore a white tank top, rather than walk around topless like Nightwing. “How are you feeling?”

“… Tired.” Michael said, quietly.

“Are you in pain?”

“I… I don’t think so… I mean… not as much as I expected to be.”

“That would be the morphine.” Nightwing said with a smile. “We got you all patched up. You’re lucky.”

“I know. I’ve survived on luck for months.” Michael said, letting his eyes slide closed again.

“… How long.” The deep rumbling voice asked, and Michael’s eyes snapped open again. Batman stood in the shadows. Michael could make out his black pants and gray tank top, but he couldn’t see his face in the darkness.

“… Six months, I think?” Michael answered. “Maybe seven, now…”

“You said that the League was after you because of what you inherited?” Nightwing asked, moving to perch on a stool; Red Robin hopped up onto a counter.

“Can… Can I sit up a bit?” Michael asked and Nightwing nodded, digging around for the control of the bed. He raised the back of the bed a bit to allow Michael to sit up, showed him how to work it, and then left it by Michael’s hand. Then he resumed his perch and looked at Michael expectantly.

“About… twenty years ago,” Michael began, “there was a small group that broke off from the League of Assassins. They had all been born into the League, but did not want that life for themselves. They defected, and ran. Eventually, they settled down on some land on the border of Texas and New Mexico, built a compound and… settled in to… just live. In peace. That’s where I was born. I grew up there.”

“You parents were members of the League?” Red Robin asked, and Michael nodded.

“But the League wouldn’t allow them to just leave.” Batman assumed.

“Yeah.” Michael confirmed. “Six months ago, they found us. Took us by surprise. And… killed them all.”

“But you got away.” Nightwing stated. Michael nodded. “Were you the only one?” Michael nodded again.

“The Master… made me promise that I would live.” Michael continued. “He was dying, and he told me to live, and to honor them by not becoming an assassin. To live free of the League. And I swore I would. But ever since then, I’ve done nothing but run for my life…” His hands fisted in the sheet, and the veins in his neck stood out he was clenching his jaw so hard.

Nightwing and Red Robin glanced at Batman. He was silent for a long moment, and then said “What brought you to me?”

Michael was silent for a long time, and then began speaking, his voice quivering as he fought back emotions. “When the League came, the kids over ten were out playing capture the flag. We would do that… at night… a type of training. When we got back to the compound the League was there. They had already subdued everyone. I was the second oldest. So… I went to distract the League… draw their attention so that Gabe could get the other kids to the barn, to the cars… we had to get them out. It’s what the Master would have wanted us to do. So I took out a few of the League and led some others on a chase. Lost them and circled back. When I got there… they had…” He bowed his head as his throat tightened and his voice broke. 

“They were dead. All of the adults… our parents. Their throats had been cut. But the Master… they wanted him to suffer. So they disemboweled him. He was still alive. He told me that the League had taken the little ones… the kids ten and under. They wouldn’t hurt them, they would take them back to headquarters to initiate them into the League. But the assassins were chasing the older kids. He told me to get a phone from his satchel in the barn. And in it was a list of people who could help me.”

“And I was on that list.”

“Yes.” Michael nodded. “I went after the others, but…” He choked slightly. “They… They threw a grenade into the car.” Nightwing straightened when he saw the tears finally falling and Michael gasped. “They killed them… all of them…”

“How many?” Batman asked.

“Fifteen.” Michael whispered. “Between ten and nineteen…”

Red Robin’s mouth fell open in horror and Nightwing bowed his head, shoulders slumping. 

“I… couldn’t think.” Michael continued. “I just… ran.”

“And tracked down the people on the list?”

“Most of them, I couldn’t find. The ones I did find wanted nothing to do with me. A couple tried to kill me themselves…”

“But I thought they were people who could help?” Red Robin asked.

“Just because they could, didn’t mean that they would. That’s what you had said last night…” Batman said, and Michael nodded.

“That’s what the Master told me.”

“What are you going to do now?” Red Robin asked.

“… I don’t know,” Michael shrugged. “I didn’t have a plan beyond staying alive for one more day; especially over the last couple of weeks as they caught up with me.”

“You’ve been trained as an assassin?” Batman asked.

“I’ve been trained to fight.” Michael nodded. “Our parents taught us everything that they knew, not so that we would become assassins… but so that we WOULDN’T.”

“What do you mean?” Asked Nightwing.

“They knew the League would find us one day. And want us to join it. And would either force us to, or kill us. They wanted us to be just as good, so that we could have a chance to fight them and maintain our freedom.”

Batman, Nightwing and Red Robin remained silent, considering all the information they had just heard. After a while, Michael spoke up again. “My only plan is to live my life… AWAY from the League. Out of their control. Fighting their control. I just… don’t know how.”

“Well… what do you want to do with your life?” Nightwing asked.

“Huh?”

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” Red Robin translated with a smile. 

“I dunno…” Michael said. “I never even thought I would leave the compound. I mean… we were home schooled there and everything.”

“You seriously never left?” Nightwing asked, amazed.

“A few trips into town with our parents from time to time, for supplies… But other than that, no. Even Gabe was going to college online…”

“… Do you think you can try to eat something?” Batman suddenly asked.

“Huh? Uh, yeah… yeah, actually… that sounds good.”

“Red Robin.” Batman simply said. Red Robin eyed his mentor for a moment, then nodded and hopped off of the counter, walking away and disappearing up a staircase carved into the rock wall a few yards away. “Nightwing, can you—“

“Make myself scarce?” Nightwing asked with a smirk, standing from his stool. “Sure thing, boss.” And he walked away, moving out of Michael’s line of sight and heading in the opposite direction that Red Robin had gone in. Slowly he turned and looked at Batman, who was staring him down. He couldn’t see the man’s eyes, but he could feel the cold gaze.

“… What is your full name.” Batman demanded.

“Michael Alexander D’Ambrosio.”

“I can’t guarantee your safety, Michael. The League is relentless, and their leader knows who I am. He knows where this place is. If he wants you that badly…”

“I understand,” Michael said. “But I have to try.”

“I may be able to protect you. While Ra’s Al Ghul and I are at complete odds with one another, there is a mutual respect that I may be able to play on.”

“I’m not asking you to do that.” Michael said. “I’m not asking you to do any more than you are willing to do. This is my fight. I’m just trying to get myself to a point where I have the ability to make my stand.”

“Alone?”

“… I can’t allow others to fight my battles for me. And I know that my time is limited, no matter what. But I want fight as long as I can. I was not raised to be killer, but I was raised to be a warrior. I want to fight. For as long as I’m able… I have to.”

Batman was silent for a long time. “If we are only fighting for ourselves, we are quicker to tire of the fight. And quicker to give in.” He finally said. 

“I will fight to honor my family.” Michael said. 

“You will die for that honor.” The Batman retorted.

“One day, yes.”

“That day will be sooner than you think.” Batman said and Michael was silent for a long time, then murmured, “If you want me to go… You’ve already done more for me than I…”

The pair regarded one another for a long time after Michael's words trailed off unfinished. But finally, as Red Robin was returning with a bowl of soup, Batman spoke up.

“I don’t want to see you die for the sake of the honor of people who are already gone. It’s a waste. A waste of your time, your efforts, your skills… your life.” Fire flared up in Michael’s golden eyes. “I’m willing to help you.” Batman continued. “And in doing so, I will give you a cause worth fighting for. One that will keep you living and fighting, for something more than yourself. And at the same time, you can honor the oath you made to your family.”

Michael regarded him with something akin to suspicion. Red Robin slowly grinned, glancing at Nightwing who was hiding just around the corner.

“What do you want me to do?” Michael asked.

“Fight with us.” Batman said, firmly. 

“And… what do you fight for?” 

“For justice.” Batman said. “To protect the people who suffer at the hands of others. To see that those who do harm, pay for it. But we do it with our own code of honor.”

“And that is?”

“Life is sacred.” Red Robin said, stepping into the little room, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “We fight with our lives, to protect lives. ALL lives. We fight, ready to die, under the oath that no one, no matter who, what or why, shall die by our hands.”

“If you join us,” Batman said, “you must swear that you will never, under any circumstance, resort to killing another human being. Even if that price is your own life, or the life of a friend and ally… or others.”

“Maiming is totally legal, though.” Nightwing said cheerfully, returning to the little alcove. Michael allowed himself to smile a little, but his eyes were growing heavy.

“No sleeping.” Red Robin scolded. “You need to eat something.”

“When did you last eat?” Nightwing asked.

“… What day is it?” Michael asked sitting up a bit more as Red Robin rolled a tray table over and set the soup down on it.

“Tuesday.” Batman said.

“… I had some Twinkies and orange soda yesterday afternoon.” Michael said after a moment of thought. “And yesterday morning I had a banana and pop tarts. And Doritos.”

Nightwing made a face at that and mumbled “ew…”

Michael just shrugged, slowly eating the soup. As he ate, Batman turned and drew something up into a syringe, setting it aside. After a few minutes of silence, Michael spoke up again.

“… I… can stay here?”

“If you want to.” Nightwing said with a nod.

“I don’t want to put you all at risk because of me.” Michael said softly, though there was hesitance in his voice that told them that he was considering the offer.

“Trust me, kid.” Red Robin grinned. “You won’t be putting us at risk any more than we put ourselves at risk. We can handle the League.”

The words had barely left his mouth when alarms started going off. Michael jumped, sloshing soup down his chest. Nightwing leapt up, grabbing a cloth and cleaning it away, steadying Michael. Then he turned to see what had set off everything. Batman had strode over to one of the massive computers, Red Robin by his side.

“… Speak of the devil…” The man growled and Red Robin folded his arms over his chest, scowling. A moment later the screen lit up and a familiar face appeared. It was a gaunt face with eerie green eyes that were heavily shadowed, black hair that was silvered at the temples and receding from his forehead, and narrow lines of facial hair on either side of his chin. He was draped in a green cloak, lined in ornate, golden patterns. Michael’s eyes widened and he began to thrash and struggle, panic rising.

“Shhhh…” Nightwing hissed, pinning him down. “Calm down. You can’t aggravate your injuries. Do NOT show him fear. Doing that puts you at a disadvantage; he WILL use it against you. Keep your head high, and face him head on.” Slowly, Michael calmed and turned his attention towards the conversation.

“Detective…” Drawled the man on the screen, looking less than pleased.

“Ra’s.” Batman grunted in response, glaring. Ra’s Al Ghul turned his attention to the young man by Batman’s side.

“Timothy.” He greeted, and Red Robin merely nodded. Ra’s turned his attention back to Batman.

“I have received word that you have interfered in my business, Detective.”

“Your assassins are NOT welcome in MY city.” Batman snarled. “I will not allow them to operate here in Gotham.”

“They followed their quarry, no more, no less. And I hear that YOU have him.”

“So what if I do?”

“He is mine, Detective.”

“He’s a human being.” Batman argued. “He doesn’t belong to ANY one.”

“He was born to the League.”

“He was born to his mother and father, who left the League. He’s a child, Ra’s. You sent assassins to chase down a CHILD.”

“So you do have him, then?”

“… Yes.” Batman said. “And he is under my protection.” Ra’s Al Ghul narrowed his eyes dangerously, clenching his jaw. “If you want him, you go through me.”

Michael stared in amazement. Nightwing gripped his shoulder, then stepped out of the little alcove and into view of the screen. Ra’s looked at him as he appeared and said “You have to go through ALL of us. All for one, and all that.”

“… I tire of your interference.” Growled the Demon’s Head, looking particularly annoyed.

“Tell it to someone who cares.” Red Robin smirked, and Ra’s gave him a look. But a moment later he raised his eyes; they briefly widened and smirk touched his lips. 

“Ah… the runaway.” Batman, Red Robin and Nightwing turned. Michael had managed to get himself out of bed and into a pair of pants that had been left out, and make his way out to face the centuries old leader of the League of Assassins. “Your efforts are to be commended. It is unheard of, a child your age evading my assassins for this long. It is indeed a feat that I would only think my grandson could possibly have the skills to accomplish…” Michael said nothing, finding himself inspired and emboldened at how the other three men were able to face the Demon’s Head without fear; if they could, so could he. Centuries old or not, he was still just a man... He stared up at the Demon’s Head, his amber eyes hard, and cold, though his apprehension was not hidden completely. “Are you done playing this game, boy?”

“… Yes.” Michael said. “I’m not running anymore.” Ra’s looked pleased at this, but his look of triumph turned to fury when Michael followed up with “I’m staying right here.”

“That would NOT be wise…”

“Don’t try to intimidate me.” Michael shot back. “I’m not afraid of you.”

The Demon’s Head narrowed his eyes. "As unconvincing as that was, you should be. But perhaps you are too much of a fool.”

“How can I be afraid of a coward?” Michael said, his tone mimicking that of the ancient man on the screen before him. Eyebrows shot up in every direction; Batman, Red Robin, Nightwing and Ra’s Al Ghul himself, all stared in surprise.

“Coward?!” Ra’s echoed, a dangerous tone in his voice. “You know nothing of what you speak, child… Your ignorance and arrogance is… unbecoming…”

Michael lifted his head and explained, “You’re centuries old. You’re the head of the League of Assassins. Your knowledge and skills may be unmatched. But despite all of this, you are still a coward, because you fear what I do not; Death. Otherwise you would have allowed yourself to leave this world in peace when it was your natural time. But instead, every time you feel death drawing near, you slither back to your Lazarus Pits like a snake… because you’re not man enough to face and accept the natural order of the world that YOU claim to be fighting for. Not only are you a coward, you’re a hypocrite, too. So no, I do not fear you. And I will never follow you because unlike you, I’m willing to die for what I cherish and believe in, rather than send others to fight and die in my stead. You, the Demon’s Head, are WEAK!”

Silence stretched out for several long moments, the only sound the subtle hum of the machinery around the cave, and the bats. But finally, Ra’s stone façade cracked. His lips twitched, and then he threw back his head and laughed. 

Nightwing frowned and glanced around at his companions, but the other three men didn’t move a muscle, never taking their eyes off of the screen. Ra’s continued to laugh for a good while, but he finally quieted and smirked down at the gathering before him.

“I admire your courage, boy, though whether it is true or stemmed from idiocy and the arrogance of an infant remains to be seen.” He paused a moment and then nodded, saying “Very well… keep the whelp, Detective. Let us see what you can make of him…” And then the screen went dark.

For a moment, no one said anything. Red Robin and Nightwing turned to look at their mentor, but the man turned and looked at Michael. A moment later he moved, grabbing a rolling chair and swinging it about to place it behind Michael who promptly dropped into it, pressing a hand to his bandaged abdomen and gritting his teeth. His eyes were closed and his face was pale and beaded with sweat. “He’s gonna kill me… I’m gonna puke…” After a moment he swallowed and began to take slow, deep breaths. He opened his eyes when he felt fingers on the inside of his wrist, and he turned. Deep blue eyes stared back at him under a strong brow, filled with an intensity that Michael had never seen before.

“I take that you accept my offer?” Batman asked, and after a moment Michael gave him a single, firm nod. Batman released his wrist and stood, folding his arms over his chest and regarding the adolescent for a short span before he allowed a wry smile to overtake his features.

“That was an impressive display you put on for Ra’s. I think you may have even fooled him.”

Red Robin and Nightwing grinned now, while Michael let out a soft huff in semblance of a laugh. “My mother always said I had a penchant for bravado. She told me it was arrogant and to check myself, before someone called me on my bluffs.”

“And did you?” Batman asked, humor in his tone.

“It was hard for her to get the message through when my father was behind her laughing and encouraging me.” Michael admitted with a mischievous grin, and Nightwing and Red Robin laughed.

“Well, either way…” Red Robin said, walking over. “That little stunt you just pulled has at least… intrigued Ra’s enough to call off the hunt for now.”

“You think so?” Michael asked.

“You’ve piqued his interest,” Batman nodded, looking amused. “You’ve escaped his assassins for six months, and you just spoke to him in a way that no one ever dares to.”

“Except us.” Red Robin announced, proudly.

“And boy does it ruffle his feathers.” Nightwing chuckled.

“Ra’s wants to see how this plays out, now.” Batman said. “You’ve impressed him, though he didn’t admit it. He wants to see what you can do. He may have called off the hunt, but he WILL be watching you.”

Red Robin nodded. “He wants to see what you’re REALLY made of.” 

Michael swallowed nervously, wondering what the hell he had just gotten himself into, mumbling "Surprisingly, I'm not very comforted by that..."

“And now, we need to know what you’re made of.” Batman said, ignoring Michael's mumble. Michael looked at him, alarmed.

“Not right now!” Nightwing said quickly, putting up his hands, and Batman nodded, saying “No, right now you need to get back into bed and rest.” And he turned and walked over to the alcove where the hospital bed was set up. Nightwing gave Michael a hand to his feet and he and Red Robin helped the patient back to his bed. Once he was situated, Batman replaced his IV Catheter, shooting him a scolding look as he did so, and restarted the fluids before picking up a syringe.

“I’m giving you another shot of something for the pain.” He said, sliding the needle into the port on the IV, and Michael bemusedly thought that the man could be slipping him a lethal poison, and he wasn’t even questioning it. “It will also help you sleep.”

“Hah… I won’t need THAT.” He announced, and caught the slight tug at the corners of Batman’s mouth as he emptied the syringe into the line. Michael relaxed back and closed his eyes for a moment, but then opened them and looked at Batman again.

“I know my mind isn’t on top form right now…” He said slowly, and Batman looked at him. “But, I know that I’ve seen your face before… Who are you?” 

Batman considered him for a long moment, but then said “Bruce Wayne.” Michael’s eyes widened in surprise and recognition. “Now rest. We’ll talk more later.” And he dimmed the lights and walked away. 

Nightwing and Red Robin watched as Michael just relaxed and closed his eyes, and then the pair chased after their mentor, removing their masks.

“That was quick.” Nightwing said, looking like he was having a hard time believing what he has just witnessed. “You’ve known him barely twenty four hours and you’re just… casually walking around without your mask, and telling him your name?” 

Bruce was silent for a moment, then looked at his two younger partners. Then he sighed, an almost sad look crossing his face.

“I believe he has been completely honest with us, and Ra’s pretty much confirmed that. And that means, he’s completely alone; everyone he knows is dead and we’re the only hope for survival that he can see… Who is he going to tell?” And with that sobering point, he vanished up into Wayne Manor.

________________________________________


	5. Slow Recovery

When Michael woke, it was to an unfamiliar face. While normally this would have put him on the instant defensive, this man, for some reason, did not frighten him. He was an aging old gentleman with a calming presence and a kindly face. When he realized that Michael was staring at him, his eyes brightened and he offered the boy a reassuring smile.

“Welcome back to the world of the living, young sir,” he said, his voice soothing. “I have prepared you something to eat, but I daresay that you might like to take a trip to the necessary?”

Michael blinked a couple of times, and then, as if the man’s words were a trigger, suddenly recognized that yes, he desperately needed to go the bathroom. At the look on Michael’s face, the old man nodded, saying “The Master is out on his nightly rounds, but Master Timothy did stay behind should you and I need assistance with anything.”

“I heard my name,” Red Robin announced, walking in; he had one hand buried in the pocket of a pair of faded jeans and a tablet was cradled in the other arm. He wore a plain white t-shirt with a red button down hanging open over it. The tablet’s stylus was tucked behind his ear, and he had a blue tooth device on the other ear. Tying the whole look together was the pair of nunchucks stuck in his back pocket.

“Yes sir.” The old man said. “I believe that our young friend will require assistance to the bathroom.”

“Gotcha.” Red Robin nodded, setting the tablet aside on the counter. “If you want to grab his food, I’ll help him.” And he approached Michael. The old man, however, scowled sternly at Red Robin.

“Sir, I really must insist that you put on some shoes down here…” He ground out, glaring at Red Robin’s bare feet. Red Robin, who had his back to the man, rolled his eyes with an affectionate smile.

“Yes, Alfred.” He chanted, sounding very much like he recited that often.

“If our young friend will be staying with us for a duration, I do not need him picking up on your bad habits.” Alfred said, crisply.

Red Robin, who was helping Michael out of bed, barked out a laugh. “MY bad habits?! Don’t you mean OUR bad habits?”

“Indeed, sir,” Alfred sniffed. “Masters Bruce and Dick, however, I gave up on as a lost cause long ago. YOU, however, I still harbor some hope for.” And he disappeared up a set of stairs, leaving Michael looking at Red Robin in confusion, and Red Robin shaking with suppressed laughter.

“Alfred’s great.” Red Robin said, as he began to get Michael moving. “You’ll love him. Believe me when I say that we could NEVER survive without him.” And Michael smiled.

“He sounds like my mother. Just with a British accent.”

Red Robin grinned at that, nodding and saying “he’s the closest thing any of us HAVE to a mother or father.”

“Really?” Michael asked.

Red Robin sighed and nodded. “Seems like it’s a pre-requisite to be in this little club… we’re all orphans.”

“.. Really?” Michael asked in a soft tone.

“Yeah.” Red Robin confirmed. “Bruce’s parents were killed in a mugging when he was eight. Alfred was the family valet and had been for years… he was basically Bruce’s guardian. Dick, uh, sorry, Nightwing, was born and raised in the circus. His family were trapeze artists. They were killed during a performance… it was sabotage.” Michael’s eyes widened.

“He… saw it happen?!”

“Yeah. So did Bruce. He was in the audience… and… I was too, with my parents. But anyway, Bruce, of course, saw himself mirrored in Dick. Dick also knew who had done the sabotage, so as a material witness he had to be moved to a safe house during the investigation. Bruce volunteered, and once everything was over and done, he offered to keep Dick permanently. And… Dick became the first Robin.”

They reached the bathroom, then. “You need help, or do you want me to wait here?” Red Robin asked, and Michael was grateful that the older boy was respecting his possible desire for privacy.

“I think I’ll be okay…”

“Alright. Just call if you need me.” Red Robin said, and allowed Michael to do his business on his own, and was standing in the same place when Michael came back out again. As they began the trek back to Michael’s bed, Michael asked “So… how did you end up here?”

Red Robin laughed. “I was too smart for my own good!” At Michael’s questioning look, he elaborated. “I did what no one else had ever been able to do; I figured out Batman and Robin’s secret identities. Bruce was pretty damn impressed… I had tried to get Dick, who was then Nightwing, to be Robin again after… well, Jason is a story for another day... But Dick didn’t want it… and Bruce offered me the position. It took a lot of time and a lot of training…”

“Your family?” Michael asked. Red Robin’s light blue eyes darkened.

“My mom was killed when I was Thirteen… my dad was paralyzed. It was a neurotoxin given to them by a terrorist who had kidnapped them and was holding them for ransom against my father’s company. Batman went to get them but… he was too late. My dad eventually recovered but… a while back, there was this… fiasco. Information about the heroes of the world was leaked into the wrong hands, and many of our loved ones were revealed… Many of our friends and family were hurt or… or killed. My dad was… he was one of them.”

“… I’m sorry,” Michael said softly, getting back into bed with Red Robin’s help.

“Bruce adopted me.” Red Robin said with a smile. “He’s been a father to me ever since I was a kid. Used to live next door to him, actually. So now, instead of Timothy Drake… I’m Timothy Drake-Wayne. And CEO of Wayne Enterprises.” Michael’s eyes popped, and Tim laughed. “THAT is a story involving our friend Ra’s, and I will save that for another day…” Tim shrugged, glancing down at his watch as he checked Michael’s pulse.

“How long have you been doing this?” Michael asked after wondering what Ra’s Al Ghul had to do with Tim Drake-Wayne becoming the CEO of Wayne Enterprises.

“Since I was fourteen; started training at thirteen.” Tim said, leaning his hip against the counter and crossing his ankles, shoving one hand into his pocket and sliding his finger across the tablet’s screen with the other, glancing down at it. “Started as Robin. Now it’s Red Robin.”

“Why the change?”

“… Damian.” Tim grumbled.

“Who?”

“Bruce’s son.”

“Son?”

“And the son of Talia Al Ghul.”

“Are you serious?! HE’S the father of Talia’s son?!”

“Deadly. Long story short, Bruce disappeared, we all thought he was dead, Dick took over being Batman and chose to have Damian as his Robin, to honor Bruce and take care of the kid. That left me on my own and so I became Red Robin as I went to find Bruce. But I guess that ultimately, that’s not the only reason. As Robin, you’re growing up and learning… apprenticed, kind of. But eventually, Robin is just something that you grow out of. And then you find your own identity. For Dick, it was becoming Nightwing. For me, it was Red Robin. I’m not sure how to define why we did what we did, but we know who and what we are NOW, and where we stand with each other… all THREE of us.”

“Makes sense.” Michael nodded, then frowned and cocked his head. “I think.”

“Exactly.” Tim laughed.

“So… Where does that leave me?” Michael asked.

“Eating,” responded Alfred, walking in with some soup and crackers. Tim winked at Michael, but remained silent as the older man fussed over the adolescent.

“I think,” Tim said once Michael started eating, “that I would prefer you in position of Robin instead of Damian… but I would prefer pretty much anyone over him—sorry, no offense to you. I just don’t like Damian much… But either way, that’s not my call. And I’m not sure that you strike me as the kind of guy to follow in the steps of others. That and Damian would probably try to kill you if you took his role. So we need to find you your own identity. But this isn’t something that needs to be decided right now. Nothing is set in stone. This is something to be discussed with the boss.”

“Indeed. Preferably when the young master is out of his sick bed?” Alfred suggested, giving Tim a pointed look. Tim put up his hands in a manner to assure Alfred that he was letting it go. Michael smiled, finding the interactions with Alfred to be both endearing, and amusing.

A moment later and there was a beeping tone from the massive supercomputer across the cave. Tim immediately turned and jogged over to it, plopping down the swivel chair and striking a few keys, then calmly leaned back and crossed his legs, bracing his elbows on the arm rests and folding his hands under his chin.

“Yeah.” He called, and Nightwing appeared on the massive screen, sitting in the driver’s seat of the Batmobile.

“Hey kiddo,” Nightwing greeted. “Sending a print your way. It’s not in the car’s database, see if you can find results with a wider group of organizations.”

“Okay.” Time said, sitting up and beginning to tap away at the keyboard, downloading the finger print and beginning to run it though every channel… legal or not. “I’m checking the federal database, and Interpol; I’ll hit you back when I have something.”

“Gotcha,” Nightwing nodded, and the connection was terminated.

“… You can access Interpol?!” Michael called and Tim spun the chair around, grinning.

“I can access almost anything, and if I can’t, we have someone on speed dial who CAN.”

“Wow.”

“Oracle is amazing,” Tim said, standing and walking back over to the alcove.

“Oracle?! Wait… THE Oracle?” Michael blurted.

“You know her?” Tim asked.

“YES!” Michael cried, suddenly losing interest in the soup; Alfred gave Tim a dirty look. “Any decent hacker knows who she is!”

“You hack?” Tim asked, sounding surprised.

“Not much. But we all learned at least your basics.” Michael said.

“Wow. Your people were thorough.”

“Yeah. Like I said, they trained us as though we were part of the League. If we were to protect ourselves, we had to be just as skilled as the League.” Tim nodded his understanding. “So I know some hacking stuff, but it wasn’t my forte… I was better at the physical aspect. Hacking lessons were tedious; I don’t like to sit still.”

“You must be dying in that bed.” Tim said with a smirk.

“Right now I’m okay. I’m tired, I hurt, and you’re keeping me doped up.” He glanced pointedly at Alfred, who was drawing up a medication into a syringe. “But in a few days, I’ll be climbing the walls.”

“You most certainly will not.” Alfred said firmly. “You will stay right where you are until I think you are ready to be up and about. And should you disagree on that point, I will restrain you.”

Michael scoffed, but Tim shook his head and said “Don’t argue, he WILL do it,” and Michael gave Alfred an apprehensive look.

“Eat.” Alfred commanded sternly, and Michael slowly obeyed. Alfred then advised, “I have, in the course of my service to the Wayne family, raised four very driven, spirited and stubborn boys through their teenage years, and have recently been given a fifth in Master Damian, and now a sixth, in you. In the battles between youth and wisdom, I am a veteran soldier and I know every tactic there is to manage unruly young men such as yourself. Should you wish to pit your will against mine, you will find yourself at a distinct disadvantage, so I suggest we establish the treaty now and save ourselves the unnecessary battles that you most assuredly will NOT win.”

Michael turned a wide-eyed look on Tim, who just put up his hands and shrugged, saying “It’s up to you, man, but I wouldn’t go against Alfred.” And he returned to the computer to check on the progress of the fingerprint.

________________________________________

Michael dozed on and off through the night. The medications made him sleepy, but he had been sleeping for over 24 hours, so he couldn’t stay asleep. That and his mind was whirling with everything that had happened over the past thirty six hours. There was so much to consider… He was woken from one of his light dozes when he heard the soft roar coming closer. He opened his eyes and turned. Tim was still at the computer, and talking to someone on a video chat.

“… Sounds like Tall, Dark and Spooky is back.” Said the young man on the screen, looking half amused and half annoyed. He had a square jaw and chiseled features with black hair cropped short, and sky blue eyes. He wore a black t-shirt with a plain red Superman shield on it, stretched tight over a muscular chest. He was sitting at a desk and indolently leaning to the side, his strong chin propped up on his fist. His other hand was tapping a pencil on his desk that was strewn with papers, a calculator, an iPod, a soda can, and what looked like a plate with a couple of pizza crusts on it.

“That’s him.” Tim nodded, standing.

“Damn.” Said the boy on the screen, grimacing.

“You’re picking up on it fine, Kon.” Tim said. “I’m sure you can handle the rest of it on your own.”

“Yeah. Right. I still don’t know why I have to do this. It’s not like I’m gonna be a career man like Kal.”

“Do you REALLY want to be known as Superboy: The Boy of Steel with no High School Diploma?” Tim laughed as the Batmobile came to a stop on its platform.

“The year is OVER!” The young man, that Michael was now amazed to know was Superboy, howled. “I can still pass, even if I skip the rest of my homework!”

“Don’t take that chance!” Tim warned. “You never know… what if you miss your final exam because Brainiac—“

“Alright, alright…” Superboy groaned, looking put out but straightened when he saw Batman and Nightwing appear. “Thanks for the help…”

“You’re welcome.” Tim said with a nod. “Call me if you need help with your Chem homework, too.”

“Right… And I promise to leave out the smart ass comments on…” He frowned down at the paper and then read “… ‘the properties of the element Krypton’…”

“Wise decision,” Tim nodded with a look of amusement. “Later.” And the screen went dark.

“Tutoring again?” Nightwing asked with a grin, taking off his mask.

“Kon is having trouble fighting back a bad case of ‘Senioritis’.” Tim said. “And he’s not even a Senior!”

“Ahhh… I remember that!” Said Dick Grayson, a fond look on his face as he reminisced.

“I remember that too…” Batman growled, walking past him. “You were a nightmare.”

“And you were a jerk!” Dick shot back.

“Me?” Batman queried, taking off the cape and cowl. “Alfred was the one who revoked your television privileges.”

“Yeah, but YOU grounded me from roof crawling.” Dick accused. After a moment, Bruce grinned.

“Alfred made me.”

“Like I said, Michael!” Tim called across the cave. “Do NOT cross Alfred!” Dick and Bruce turned and looked at Michael, and then Dick asked “what did he do?”

“He said he wouldn’t be able to stand staying in bed for long.” Tim said.

“… Alfred threatened to tie him down, didn’t he?” Bruce surmised.

“Trust me, kid…” Dick said with a grin. “He’ll do it.”

“Alfred has gone to bed.” Tim said. “But he left you guys some sandwiches.”

“Excellent… I’m starving.” Dick said, and trotted off to change.

“Anything on the print?” Bruce asked, and Tim moved over the computer.

“Nothing in VICAP.” Tim said. “Still waiting on Interpol. What are we looking at?”

“Professional hit. We’ve got high ranking men in the Baptiste organization dead, and the Triad is on edge and closing ranks.”

“Nice.” Tim sighed with a frown. Then, Bruce turned and looked at Michael, who blinked owlishly.

“I’m having Oracle work on getting some documents located and drawn up to make things easier on us.”

“Documents?” Michael asked.

“She’s tracking down any and all records of your existence and creating what we don’t have.” Bruce told him.

“What? How?!” Michael asked.

“For starters,” Bruce said with a smirk, “she’s hacking into the FBI’s data base.”

“… FBI?!” Michael blurted, looking alarmed. “What would THEY have on me?!”

“They were called out to investigate the death of your family.” Tim said.

“Investigate?” Michael probed, warily. Tim sighed.

“First, they thought it was a mass cult suicide.” He explained, and Michael’s eyes blazed in his indignant anger. This was overtaken by cold fury when Tim continued with “And then they moved on to believe that the cult was creating home grown terrorists. But they didn’t really know WHAT they were dealing with. They still don’t.”

“And with that in mind…” Bruce said, “We need to be careful. If they find you and pin you as a survivor, that will bring a lot of attention and raise a lot of questions that you don’t want to deal with.”

Michael nodded his understanding. “So… What do we do?” He asked.

“Oracle is destroying the data that the FBI could use to identify you. And we’ve got someone who will be going in and getting us the hard copies; birth certificate, social security info, things like that.”

“What? But… I don’t think I HAVE a social security number or a… a birth certificate.” Michael confessed.

“Your people made up their own records to that affect. Oracle will create you a Social Security number and create a false legal trail. Medical records, school records…”

“You were homeschooled.” Tim said, seeing the question coming. “Parents didn’t believe in modern medicine, they were holistic spiritual healers.”

“Nice…” Michael laughed.

“On that note, as soon as we’re given clearance, we need to vaccinate you.” Bruce announced, and Michael made a face, saying “Is this the part where I start ranting about vaccines being a government conspiracy and exist only to line the pockets of the CEOs of Pharmaceutical companies?”

“Yes.” Dick said return with food, grinning in amusement. “Yes it is.”

“Thanks.” Bruce said, accepting the plate and sitting down. “You would not believe what you could be exposed to in this work…”

“Oh?” Michael asked, and Tim raised his fork as Dick gave Michael a bowl of soup.

“I caught a strain of Ebola a few years back.” He announced, as though simply talking about a class he had taken in Freshman year.

“Damn near killed you, too…” Nightwing said, grimacing as he remembered.

“The Clench killed a lot of people…” Bruce rumbled in his Batman voice, and Dick and Tim paused and were silent for a long moment before they continued to eat.

“… Is Leslie coming in to check him over?” Dick said after a few minutes, giving the men a chance to eat a bit.

“This afternoon, yes.” Bruce said with a nod.

“Who’s Leslie?” Michael asked, but Tim just said “Oh, she’ll be thrilled that we’ve corrupted another one…”

“She’ll get over it.” Bruce said simply.

“Don’t just assume that, Bruce. She’s still not happy.” Tim insisted.

“Who is Leslie?” Michael asked again.

“Family doctor.” Dick said around a mouthful of his sandwich. “Doesn’t exactly approve of what we do…”

“Or approve of our habit of recruiting minors to our cause.” Tim said with a wry smile.

“I see…” Michael said slowly.

“She’s nice,” Tim assured him.

A very long pause followed, in which they all finished their meals, and then Dick and Bruce hit the showers while Tim sat on his tablet doing something for Wayne Enterprises.

“So… You know Superboy?” Michael asked after a moment. Tim glanced up with a grin.

“Kon? Yeah… he’s my best friend.”

“Kon?”

“His Kryptonian name, given to him by Superman. Kon-El. Superman is Kal-El. You may hear people talking about him and using that name, so…” He shrugged. “But yeah. Superboy has been my best friend for years now.”

“He… He died. And came back.” Michael said, and mentally kicked himself when a flash of anguish crossed Tim’s face. “I saw it on the news…” Michael mumbled.

“Yeah… That was… one of the worst times in my whole life.”

“I’m sorry… I mean… I know what it’s like… to lose your best friend.” 

Tim looked up and gave him a sad smile. “Yeah, I guess you do. You lost your friend, your parents… girlfriend?”

“Nah. Didn’t have one.”

“Hm,” Time nodded, then said “I lost my girlfriend, father and my best friend all in the same year. And then we thought we had lost Bruce, too, so… I lost a second father… Worst two years of my life…”

“Oh…”

“But I was lucky.” Tim confessed. “My girlfriend’s death had been faked… she came back a year later. I mean, we’re not together anymore, long story... And then Bruce, Kon and another friend of mine, it turns out, weren’t dead… they were lost in time. We got them back. Batman, Superboy and Kid Flash.”

“Kid Flash?”

“Yeah…” Tim laughed. “Me, Kon an’ him made quite the…”

“Unholy Trio.” Dick announced, walking across the cave as he toweled his hair dry. “The three of them and Wonder Girl are thick as thieves.”

“… Cool,” Michael grinned. “You’re on the Teen Titans?”

“Tim is the unofficial leader.” Dick said with a grin. “The Robins usually are.”

“Why?” Michael asked.

“Because WE tend to be the smartest.” Dick said. “Hence why I am leader of the Titans.”

“Don’t let Vic, Garth and Donna hear you say that…” Tim laughed.

“Alright, enough.” Bruce announced, walking out of the showers with a towel around his neck. “Get to bed before Alfred comes down here.” And he started shutting down lights. “Michael… we’ll see you later.”

“I have to stay down here?” Michael whined, then gave Bruce a dirty look when the man injected more of his medication into his IV.

“Just go to sleep. If Leslie says so, we can move you out of here this afternoon and start getting you mobile again.”

Michael grumbled under his breath but did as he was told, lying down and listening to the men leave him alone in the cave, with only the bats for company…

________________________________________


	6. Emergeance

Michael woke to voices, and was dismayed to realize that he hadn’t woken until they were a mere ten yards away. Cursing himself for the depth of his sleep and failure to detect the voices sooner, he forced his eyes open and rubbed the crusties away, surprised at how groggy he was.

A moment later and he was forcing his mind to focus on the voices and recognized Dick saying “—didn’t exactly choose to bring him into any of this, Leslie. He sought us out for help. The League of Assassins was chasing him for God’s sake. What else were we supposed to do?”

“I’m not criticizing you for what you’ve done for him,” an older woman replied, her tone sincere, but the words that followed were clipped and filled with disapproval. “It’s what you are GOING to do that has me concerned.”

“We’re not forcing him into anything, Leslie.” Bruce replied, his own voice hard. 

“So tell me, Bruce…” Leslie said, “will you try to help him lead a normal life?”

“If that is what he wants, I would.” Bruce replied. “But speaking realistically, the League of Assassins would not allow that. They would either force him into their ranks, or kill him. Even I can’t hide him from them forever.”

“His best chance to actually HAVE a life, normal or not, is right here with us.” Tim chimed in. Michael heard the woman huff in her frustration.

“Well, I think I would like to hear from him what HE wants.” The woman said.

“I want to fight.” Michael stated, wincing at his raspy tone. Sitting up, he cleared his throat of the dry mucous that had gathered (great, he had slept with his mouth open, hello dragon breath) and faced the group.

The woman who stood before him was aging, probably around Alfred’s age. She had pale gray eyes and silvery hair. Her face was deeply lined with more than just her years, but her eyes were hard, firm and fearless as she surveyed him with a less than pleased look on her face at his words.

“I’m not going to just sit around, live a boring life and wait for the day when I get a knife in the back. I was born and raised to fight and I have every intention to go down fighting when it’s my time.”

She drew in a deep breath through her nose, scowling, but approached him. “You already sound like them.” She finally muttered, shooting a glare at the three men standing across the little room. Bruce didn’t blink, Dick just shrugged and Tim grinned.

“He almost sounds like Damian.” Dick said then and Tim rolled his eyes, looking none too pleased, and spun on his heel to head over to the computer.

“And before you start,” Bruce said, seeing the fire in Leslie’s eyes, “Damian wears the Robin costume because I prefer to have him where we can watch him. Because believe me, there is nothing on this earth that will keep him from fighting. This way, I can try to make sure that he doesn’t get killed.”

“Or that he doesn’t kill anyone else…” came a mumble from Tim’s direction.

“Michael, this is Dr. Thompkins.” Dick said quickly. “She’s the family doctor—“

“Indeed,” Leslie sniffed.

“—And she’s going to check you over.”

“Good. The sooner I can get out of this bed, the better…” Michael said, his voice firm but eager. “I can already feel the atrophy.”

“That’s just in your head.” Bruce said, his eyes lighting up in amusement.

“Bed ridden or not, we can get you started on what you need to know if you’re going to work with us.” Dick said, settling his left thigh and buttock on the counter and perching casually.

“Now, really…” Leslie hissed between her teeth as she unwound Michael’s bandages. Michael eyed her, finding this tiny old woman to be surprisingly intimidating… like Alfred, in a way.

“My dear Leslie,” And speak of the devil, Michael thought with a smile, “surely you have learned by now that the breed of young man that comes through this house will do what he will do, and there is nothing either one of us can say about it. They are warriors at heart and—“

“Stubborn, reckless and foolhardy.” Leslie said, and Michael finally saw a gleam in her eye and a tug at the corner of her mouth as she ran her fingers over the stitches keeping Michael’s gunshot wound closed. “Your work is excellent as usual, Alfred.”

“Aim for perfection, Dr. Thompkins,” Alfred said with a slight smile.

“Your work leaves much to be desired, Bruce…” Leslie drawled then as she inspected the sutures to the laceration on Michael’s bicep. Michael couldn’t help but grin at the almost-pout that appeared on Bruce Wayne’s face. Dick snickered, then let out a hiss as Bruce smacked him upside the head and walked away.

“You’re still going to be laid up for a good amount of time, young man.” Leslie said. “I don’t want you out of this bed for at least another week.”

“A week?!”

“At least.” Leslie said firmly in response to Michael’s outcry. “Then you can be moved to a bedroom in the house, with strict activity restrictions. And at that time, we’ll see how you do.”

Michael groaned, flopping back onto the bed in a dramatic show of frustration. Leslie looked amused at this, telling him “if you insist on throwing yourself around like that, I may be forced to extend your restrictions.” And Dick chortled at Michael’s whine of frustration.

“I’m gonna go crazy!” Michael insisted.

“If you’re that determined to join in on this absurd crusade, then you already are,” Leslie observed, narrowing her eyes.

“… MORE crazy,” Michael amended and Dick laughed again, while snorting was heard from the chair by the computers. Leslie glared at Dick and the back of Tim’s head.

“You keep him in bed.” She commanded them. Dick assured her that he would, and Tim pretended not to hear her.

When she declared that she was finished with Michael, Dick and Alfred walked her out of the cave, intending to see her out to her car. Tim waited until they were out of ear shot, and then stood and crossed the cavern, heading over to Michael.

“This should keep you busy,” he said with a slightly evil grin, and handed Michael a tablet. “This will get you started on everything we’ll want you to know.”

“Okay…” Michael nodded, accepting it slowly.

“Some of our cases and some of the big names in Gotham you will need to know about. Both the costumed crazies, and our big time organized crime. Also, maps of the city. You’ll want to know Gotham like the back of your hand. All of it. Study them closely. Learn what areas are what, what gangs or organizations operate in which territories, who are our informants, on both sides of the law… and that’s just the tip of the iceberg.”

Michael stared at the countless files. “… Seriously?”

“Deadly.” Tim nodded.

Michael stared at him for a moment, then sighed. “Alright.” And Tim nodded and left him to it.

And for the next two weeks, thanks to Leslie extending his bed rest, that was all Michael did every waking hour. When his hosts were in the cave, he listened in when they discussed what they were working on and referenced any names mentioned on the tablet Tim had given him, trying to familiarize himself with the ever changing beast that was the Gotham Underground…

He watched them come and go in triumph and frustration, in determination to stop tragedy, or just looking forward to a night of routine patrol. He heard them mention allies, like Spoiler, Bat Woman, Huntress and Azrael, the Cat Woman, who apparently was friend or foe depending on her mood, and run-ins with nuisances, like a recently paroled moron who called himself the Baffler, or, most exciting of all, a fight with the Scare Crow which left Nightwing cave-bound for the night after getting a face full of Fear Gas. Apparently they had all been administered a preventive antidote but it only lessened the effects, rather than stop them completely. That night had been tense to say the least, as Nightwing kept pacing in his anxiety, furious at being out of commission but unable to cease his trembling and profuse sweating. Michael had stayed still and quiet, not wanting to rile the man up more, but Nightwing decided to distract himself by regaling Michael with the tales of past encounters with the Scare Crow. It was fascinating, but unnerving to see what the mad man’s gas could trigger in a warrior like Nightwing.

But finally, the day came when he was allowed out of bed. As soon as he got the okay, he “shot out of bed like a cannon ball”, as a laughing Dick Grayson told Bruce Wayne when the man came to investigate why Dr. Leslie Thompkins was furiously threatening to put Michael right back into his hospital bed.

It was Tim who pointed out that they had no clothes for Michael, and Michael ended up dressed in some of Tim’s clothes. He had to roll up the hems of the jeans a few times and the shirt was a bit too large, but it worked, and Tim was then assigned to get Michael some clothes. But first and foremost, it was decided that they needed to get him settled into a room of his own in Wayne Manor.

“Do you all live here?” Michael asked as he took the stairs slowly and carefully, mindful of Dr. Thompkins eyes on his back.

“Part time.” Dick called over his shoulder. “Tim lives out in the stable that was converted into an apartment for him, but has a room in the manor. I have a room here in the house, but also an apartment in Gotham, and in Bludhaven.”

“What we have done,” Bruce said, “is created a paper trail and fabricated a Will under your father’s name, naming Dick as your legal guardian. And as he travels a lot, your permanent residence, in the system, will be here at the Manor.”

“Oh.” Michael said, looking both surprised and impressed. 

“Once we get you fully settled, we’ll figure out where to go from there.” Bruce continued.

“Which brings up something…” Dick called. “Michael… it would be best if you started to set up your civilian life… We want to enroll you in Gotham Heights High School once the school year begins in August.”

“… What?!” Michael blurted. “High School?! Seriously?! Can’t I… test out of it?!”

“I dunno… Can you?” Tim laughed. “Trust me, Michael. High School will be good for you.”

Michael groaned, and Dr. Thompkins smiled in amusement; Michael sounded like a normal teenager in that moment.

“Think of it this way…” She said. “Once the school year starts, you’ll probably healed enough to lift your restrictions.”

“But that’s two months away!”

“Yes, it is.” She said. Michael groaned even more dramatically, this time.

“Don’t start complaining. I’m going to keep you busy in the mean time.” Bruce said, a warning tone in his voice. Michael eyed the man’s broad back as they finally emerged into the house.

“If I have to spend much more time on my ass, I’m going to lose my—oh.” He cut himself off and stopped in his tracks, staring at the enormous room before him. “… Whoa… You gotta be kidding me…”

“Please do not stand in the doorway, Master Michael.” Alfred sighed from behind him, and Dick tugged Michael’s sleeve, managing to get the kid to shuffle to the side, and then guiding him out of the room.

“This… this is your HOUSE?!” Michael blurted, gazing at the ridiculously huge living room.

“It is.” Bruce said, perfectly calm. They stepped out in the cavernous foyer, and Michael’s head slowly tipped back as he took in the sweeping grand staircase, marble floors and chandelier.

“… I feel like my dick should be wearing a tie!”

Tim and Dick’s raucous laughter drowned out Alfred’s scandalized “Now, really!” Bruce simply pretended that he hadn’t heard any of it.

“Michael, I think I’m going to put you across from Jason’s room, around the corner from Damian and the others.”

“Jason?” Michael asked.

“Robin number two.” Dick said.

“… Two?”

“One.” Dick said, raising his hand.

“Three.” Tim announced, putting a finger into the air. “Damian is four.” 

“Five.” Dick corrected.

“I don’t count Steph.” Tim said, and Dick grinned.

“Will you EVER get over that?”

“Get over what?” Tim asked.

“Oh, refusing to acknowledge it, hm?”

Tim didn’t say a word, and Dick just looked tickled. Slowly, the little group began their trek up the stairs while Alfred saw Dr. Leslie Thompkins to her car. The three veteran vigilantes watched Michael closely as he climbed yet another set of stairs, hand pressed against the healing wound on his abdomen, but he made it up without any obvious trouble and they made their way down the hall. “My suite is back that way,” Bruce said, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder, and then, ignoring Michael’s “did you say suite?” he pointed out “This is Damian’s room…”

“Do NOT go in there, he booby traps it.” Tim warned.

“This is Dick’s room when he stays here. Tim’s is across the hall, but he mostly lives out in the stable…” Bruce continued, once more ignoring Michael who snickered about Tim living in the stable, “And then around here is where you’ll stay.” And Bruce approached a room at the corner of the hall. “Jason’s is across the hall down there.” And he pointed to the door.

“He probably booby traps his room, too.” Tim snorted.

“Well… when in Rome.” Michael sighed and Tim gave Michael an alarmed look, while Dick just laughed his appreciation for Michael’s sense of humor… or what he hoped was his sense of humor... Bruce, once again, ignored it all and pushed open the door. 

“It’s not much.” He said, stepping aside to allow Michael to enter. “But it’s yours. Feel free to make it yours. Dick and Tim can help you get whatever you need. Once you’re feeling up to it, you need to get some clothes.”

“As in… go to the mall?” Michael asked slowly. 

“If that’s what you want.” Bruce nodded, and Michael just stared.

“… You’ve never gone to the mall before, have you?” Dick asked, cocking his head.

“Not really. I’ve passed through them to disappear in crowds.”

“… Tim?”

“On it.” Tim nodded to Dick. “Mall it is, Michael. Whenever you feel up to it.”

“Just… don’t let it get back to Leslie.” Bruce said as Michael moved into the room and stared around.

“… It’s huge. Our house could fit in here!”

“The house you grew up in?” Tim asked, and Michael nodded.

“This room is a good 1000 square feet…” Bruce informed Michael, who still looked stunned.

“I… have no idea what to do with all this space.”

“Spread out. Make a mess. That’s what WE do.” Dick chuckled.

“Indeed…” Alfred drawled, joining them only to make an abrupt U-turn. “I shall go prepare lunch.”

“I have work to do. Why don’t you settle in, Michael?” Bruce said, placing a hand on Michael’s shoulder.

“Get some rest.” Tim nodded, smiling as he followed Bruce and Alfred out. Dick leaned against the door frame and stared at Michael’s back. 

“… I know it’s intimidating.” He said, and Michael turned to look at him. “I moved in after my parents died… from a traveling circus to Wayne Manor. It’s a BIG change.” He smiled. “I remember when Bruce told me to take some time to settle in. All I could do was stand there and stare, too scared to touch anything.” 

Michael let out a huff of amusement, letting Dick know he’d hit the nail on the head. 

“But don’t be.” Dick told him. “This is YOUR space. Make it yours. However you want. And you don’t have to decide how to do that right away. Whenever you’re ready. For now, just take a nap. And don’t be scared of the bed; it’s YOURS now… If you want to talk, I’ll be in my room.” And he left Michael alone.

Michael stood there for a long time, just as Dick had when he had first come to live at Wayne Manor. And then he slowly moved around the room, eying the fancy furniture, running fingertips over polished wood with a fine coating of dust that Alfred would NOT have approved of. Michael frowned then… “If I’m gonna make this place mine, THIS stuff has to go…” He muttered, absolutely terrified of damaging what looked like VERY nice furniture… Then he carefully pulled off his t shirt and jeans and shuffled over to the bed, wiped out from the climb up the stairs. Not that he would have let Bruce, Dick or Tim know…

He was out as soon as his head hit the pillow.

________________________________________

Michael slept into the afternoon. By the time he emerged from his newly designated bedroom, Alfred was preparing dinner. He gave Michael half of a grilled cheese sandwich to tide him over until dinner was ready, and then sent him to explore Wayne Manor. And Michael did so, eyes wide in amazement as each and every old, lavishly decorated room made him feel smaller and smaller and more and more out of place. Any house that had a parlor and formal dining room was too big, in his opinion, but to have a library, ballroom and conservatory was almost obscene. He was wandering down a dim hallway when he heard voices, and upon turning the corner he found a door hanging ajar, light flooding the corridor from inside. 

When he peered within, he found Bruce and Tim sitting side by side in what looked like antique chairs, facing a large flat screen TV on the wall, showing what appeared to be a board room. The table in the room could have easily fit two dozen, but was currently hosting a mere nine people. Bruce was leaning back in his chair, legs crossed, and had his hands folded beneath his chin as he surveyed the people on the screen. Tim was also leaning back with his legs crossed, but had his attention focused between the TV, and the tablet propped against his knee.

Michael heard one of the men on the screen saying something, and then Bruce said “So moved.”

“Seconded,” Tim piped up, not taking his eyes off of his tablet.

“Moved by Mr. Bruce Wayne, seconded by Mr. Timothy Drake-Wayne, all those in favor?”

Several “Aye”s were heard, and then “All those opposed?” There was a moment of silence and then a middle aged, balding black man with a moustache and glasses said “motion carries.” 

Michael backed away from the door and continued down the hall, not wanting to interrupt what looked like a business meeting. At the end of the hall he came to what looked to be another study, with French Doors leading out onto a terrace. Michael stepped through the doors and outside. The air was hot and humid, thick, sticky and cloying with the scent of the flowers on the vines that climbed the old house and filled the gardens that stood before him around a reflecting pool. The sky was overcast and a healthy breeze blew in, carrying with it the fragrance of rain from an incoming summer storm.

The grounds of the Wayne Estate were spectacular, and Michael found that he couldn’t wait to heal enough to be able to climb some of the trees, great sentinels that were likely centuries old… He had never really climbed trees before; at home, there were no trees large enough to climb. He moved to the edge of the terrace and perched on the white stone balustrade, watching the bees make their rounds through the flowers, which were unlike anything he had ever seen except on television or in pictures… All he knew was yucca, cacti, cotton, mesquite and various dry scrub brush… very little grew in the sandy red soil where he had grown up.

He allowed a surprised smile of delight cross his face when he saw a couple of hummingbirds, and heard the calls of other birds that he had never heard before. But then he heard one that he DID know. His head whipped around and his amber eyes honed in on the flash of red.

“What is it?” Dick asked, crossing the terrace to stand near Michael.

“A cardinal.” Michael said, and Dick followed his gaze, locating the bird. “Male. Probably has a mate nearby.” Dick smiled slightly, watching the brilliant ruby-red bird flit from branch to branch on a small, flowering tree. It would flip its wings and chirp, hopping back and forth, cocking its head this way and that, fanning his tail, and then, finally, the bird took wing, disappearing into the leaves of the old trees, his voice carrying back to the two men.

“You like cardinals?”

“Yeah. I didn’t see them often, but of all the birds out where I grew up, the cardinal was really the only one with any color.” Michael said. “Especially after it snowed.”

“They’re red and black?” Dick asked.

“The females are brown with some red.” Michael said. “The males are red, with a black mask.”

Dick’s eyebrows lifted slightly and a gleam appeared in his eye. “Mask, huh?” He mumbled softly, lips quirking up in a smile. But then he clapped Michael on the back and said “Come on. Dinner.” Michael slid off of the balustrade and followed Dick back into the house, finally hearing a soft rumble of thunder in the distance. Dick led him to a small, informal dining room just off of the kitchen, where Dick and Tim already were.

“Where’d you find him?” Tim asked.

“… Bird watching.” Nightwing said with a smile as Michael sat down beside him, across from Bruce.

“Bird watching?” Bruce asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Out back. On the terrace.” Dick said, placing his napkin into his lap before Alfred could tell him to. But Alfred wasn’t disappointed; he had to tell Michael to put his napkin in his lap and to get his elbows off of the table. As Alfred began setting down plates of their dinner, Dick continued with, “He likes cardinals,” giving Tim a meaningful look. Tim blinked a couple of times and then straightened slightly, turning to look at Bruce, who was watching the exchange between the two younger men. Bruce caught the look in Tim’s eye, and said “… cardinals, huh?”

“Yup.” Dick said, and all three turned to stare at Michael. Michael sat there with wide eyes, darting between the three men.

“Uhhh… is there something… wrong?”

“… No. Dick, you take this project.”

“With pleasure.” Dick said with a grin, and the three men promptly dismissed the conversation and dug into Alfred’s homemade meatloaf, leaving Michael to wonder what the heck was going on. But he decided to worry about it later and dug into the meal with a hearty appetite and cleaned his plate in no time. When Dick got seconds, Michael did to, and soon they were all having seconds. Michael and Dick even moved on to thirds, while Tim and Bruce politely chatted about their meeting while the other two finished eating.

“Hope you saved room for dessert.” Bruce smiled when Alfred cleared their dinner plates away. “I think he made peach cobbler.”

“Indeed, sir.” Alfred said, and plunked down the plates before the men; steaming hot peach cobbler with ice cream.

“… Wow.” Michael said, staring. “This is probably one of the best meals I’ve ever had.” When everyone looked at him, he clarified “The League of Assassins doesn’t exactly raise accomplished chefs… We were pretty basic. Especially the men.” And he dug into dessert.

“Don’t make yourself sick.” Tim laughed.

“I won’t,” Michael assured him.

After most of dessert had been devoured, Bruce set his spoon down and said “as long as you’re feeling up to it, tomorrow Tim will take you into Gotham to get you some clothes. And if you have the energy, Dick will meet you after lunch to see about changing your room to fit your tastes. No restrictions within reason, no budget. Just get what you want.”

“This calls for a trip to IKEA.” Dick grinned, and Bruce rolled his eyes.

“Whatever…” The man said, standing from the table. “Time to go to work.” Michael watched the three men go silently, then looked up when Alfred laid a hand on his shoulder, and giving him a smile he said “why don’t you watch a movie? I know you’re not ready for bed yet. And the young masters have built up quite a collection of films to choose from.”

“Sure.” Michael said, and went to do just that…

________________________________________

It was two am when Bruce, Dick and Tim got back home from their night patrolling in the rain. The criminal element seemed to have been hiding from the rain, so it was a slow night, hence their early return. They showered and headed up to bed. But Bruce made his way to Michael’s room and cracked the door open, peering in. The windows were wide open, the curtains billowing in the wind from the storm, filling the room with the cool smell of the rain. Lightning flickered, illuminating Michael, who was fast asleep in bed, facing the windows. Bruce closed the door.

“Guess he was watching the storm.” Dick said, softly, then headed to his own room. “Night.”

“G’night.” Bruce nodded, and headed to bed.

________________________________________


	7. Young Justice

Tim Drake groaned loudly when he was woken by the sun in his face.

“Rise and shine, Master Timothy.” Said Alfred cheerfully, and a moment later Tim could smell his favorite brew of coffee. “Young Michael is quite eager to get going.”

“Is he being impatient?” Tim mumbled with a smile.

“Quite the contrary, sir.” Alfred said, walking over and placing the mug of coffee into Tim’s seeking hand. “He has been most patient and gracious, insisting that I not wake you. Impressive for a young man his age. But to be honest, I quite fear that he is afraid of… over-stepping bounds, or outliving his welcome. He insisted upon washing the breakfast dishes.”

Tim chuckled into his coffee mug. “Let him know I’ll be ready to go in half an hour. Wake Dick. If I have to get up, so does he. Tell him he’s coming too.”

“Yes, sir.” Alfred nodded with an amused sparkle in his eye, and went to do as Tim had asked.

Tim sighed and savored his coffee for a bit longer and then downed it all, got out of bed and hopped into a cold shower, just to wake himself up a bit faster. Then he toweled off and pulled on his boxers and jeans, brushed his teeth and shaved, ran some gel through his hair and pulled on a Gotham City Blades Ice Hockey t-shirt, and then tugged on his socks and sneakers. As he left the bathroom, he heard his cell phone buzz. He grabbed it and smiled at the text from Superboy.

-u awake? Just finished last exam. Need 2 get out of Smallville-

Tim texted back, -busy 2day. takin new kid 2 mall.-

And Tim shoved his phone, wallet, keys and sunglasses into his pocket, and headed out. Dick emerged from his own room moments later in jeans, a light blue t-shirt and a black button up shirt hanging open over it, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“Mornin’.” Tim greeted, walking down the stairs beside him.

“… It would be better if I were still in bed.” Dick snorted, but he was smiling.

“Hm…” Was his only response from his younger companion. Alfred emerged from the kitchen, handing the pair a small foil-wrapped bundle each.

“Alright! Burrito!” Dick cried in excitement, unwrapping the foil and revealing the tortilla. 

“Thanks, Alfred.” Tim said.

“Master Michael is in the garage, touring Master Bruce’s… collection.” Alfred said with a smile.

“… Uh oh.” Dick drawled, and headed for the garage.

“We’ll see you later, Alfred.” Tim said. “You might want to get some people in here to move the old furniture out of Michael’s room, and then paint it.”

“The furniture will be out by the time you get back.” Alfred nodded. “And before Master Bruce even wakes up. Once it’s out the painters will be ready… what color?”

“As soon as I know, you’ll know… And Alfred? You’re the man.” Tim said, waving and chasing after Dick.

“Indeed.” Alfred mused, smiling and heading to the phone to get some movers into the house by lunch.

Out in the garage, Tim found Dick unlocking the old 1925 Rolls Royce Phantom for an amazed Michael to explore the interior.

“Don’t take too long!” He called, heading over to the blue Range Rover and sinking his teeth into his burrito, made with everything he liked; scrambled eggs, cheddar jack cheese, bacon, sausage, onions, mushrooms, bell peppers and salsa. He unlocked the car and slid into the driver’s seat, pushing the ignition button and setting the radio. It was exactly four minutes and fifty two seconds later (not that he was counting) before Dick called “Shotgun!” and jumped into the passenger seat, following up with “Baby rides in the back!”

“… Baby?!” Michael sputtered.

“Only until Damian gets home.” Dick chortled and Tim rolled his eyes, saying “Please don’t mention the Son of Satan… I would like to ENJOY my last days without him here.”

“Aw, he’s not so bad.” Dick said, only to find Tim giving him his best Bat-Glare. “Well… not to ME…” He mumbled, stuffing the last of his burrito into his mouth.

“… I take it you don’t get along with this… Damian?” Michael asked.

“He tried to KILL me… SEVERAL times.” Tim said. Michael’s eyes widened.

“Will he try to kill me?” He asked.

“No.” Tim said. “YOU’RE not in his way.”

“And you are?”

“Bruce adopted me. Legally. I’m his heir. Damian doesn’t approve of Bruce having any son other than himself, soooo…”

“I see…” Michael said, slowly. “He sees you as a rival.”

“Exactly.” Tim nodded, pulling out of the garage and heading down the front drive, not noticing his phone vibrating in his pocket. “What kind of music do you like, Michael?”

“… Anything but country… PLEASE.” Michael groaned.

“No country?” Dick asked. “You’re from TEXAS!”

“Yeah. It was all you could get on the radio at the compound. In English, at least. The rest was some weird hybrid of pop and mariachi.” Michael grumbled, and Tim and Dick laughed.

“Well…” Tim said, reaching for the radio and turning it up. “Welcome to the big city.” And as they headed into Gotham Heights, Three Days Grace, Fall Out Boy, Bon Jovi and My Chemical Romance blaring out of their windows.

They soon arrived at the Gotham Heights shopping center, called The Circle. It was a very large Round-About with a spacious garden in the inner circle, with a wide fountain featuring Aphrodite and the Three Graces in the center of the garden. The round-about and the roads branching off like the spokes of a wheel were lined with stores and restaurants. Michael was trying to look in every direction at once, amazed. Tim pulled up to the valet parking and hopped out, passing the key fob to the man standing at the podium. The man handed Tim his ticket, and the trio then looked around.

“So… Where to first?” Tim asked.

“Clothes.” Dick said with a grin. “Michael looks pathetic in your clothes, Timmy.”

“Don’t call me that,” Tim snapped, punching Dick in the shoulder making the man laugh. “Come on, then. Clothes it is. Where to? Nordstrom? PacSun?”

“… Huh?” Michael finally managed to get out. 

Dick laughed and said “Let’s just walk around and see what interests you,” having every intention of studying Michael’s tastes closely, trying to learn as much about him as he could.

“Alright.” Michael shrugged, and off they went. They visited several places… Old Navy, PacSun, Fossil, Ralph Lauren and Abercrombie… They didn’t stay in the latter establishment, as Michael found the smell to be overwhelming… as he so eloquently put it, it smelled like “a hooker had sprayed herself down with cheap perfume after seeing a dozen men drenched in cheaper cologne.” This had Dick and Tim half shocked and appalled, and half ready to die of laughter. They then informed Michael that Bruce had met the CEO of the company, and the man was a complete arrogant douche bag with one of the most scary faces they had ever seen. And for them, that was saying something. But Dick had thus far been disappointed about using fashion tastes to learn about Michael; he seemed pretty generic. Simple. A few pairs of jeans, a set of slacks… a few under shirts, and plain, non descript V necks, button ups and athletic wear. None of it had seemed to excite Michael either. He seemed to pick them because they were practical necessities. Tim even had to take it upon himself to get a few extras in different colors.

Frustrated, Dick just tried the direct approach. “Michael… what are you in to? What are your interests?”

“… geek stuff I guess… music, video games, comics… Sci-Fi/Fantasy…” He mumbled, as they walked down the road. 

Tim nodded. “Okay… I’m sure we can find something to make your wardrobe a bit more… diverse…” 

Dick grinned and opens his mouth to speak up, but then his smile faltered and a look of surprise overtook his face. “Invited your friends, Tim?”

“What?” Tim asked, and turned to follow Dick’s gaze. His eyes widened. “Oh. No… I didn’t…” 

Three teenagers were striding across the street, grinning. There were two boys and a girl. All were in jeans; the girl wearing them fitted and low hung on the hips but flaring slightly below the knee, the larger boy wearing simple, boot cut jeans, and the smaller boy wore baggy jeans that sagged ever so slightly. The girl was blonde with blue eyes, and was wearing a Grumpy Cat t-shirt. The smaller boy had auburn hair, oddly vivid yellow eyes, and a playful air about him. He wore a red baseball cap backwards, a yellow soccer jersey with two red finger stripes down the sleeves and sides, and skater shoes. The larger boy, Michael recognized with a strange jolt in his gut. He wore a red button up shirt with short sleeves and the top couple of buttons undone, and a black t shirt could be seen underneath it. He was also wearing a pair of simple, wire framed glasses, but there was no mistaking the boy he had seen on the screen of the Bat Computer a couple of weeks ago; it was Superboy. This realization made him eye the other two teenagers suspiciously.

“What are you guys doing here?” Tim called, smiling as the trio approached. He and Superboy clasped their right hands and threw their left arms around one another for a second, he hugged and girl and exchanged fist bumps with the smaller boy, who was an inch or two shorter than Michael.

“This the new kid?” Superboy asked, turning and smiling at Michael who inspected him from where he was half standing behind Dick. “Hey, Grayson.”

“What are you doing here?” Dick asked, though he was smiling.

“Celebrating finishing exams!” Superboy declared. “So when Tim said he was going to the mall, I called Bart and Cassie. Not like this is a MALL…” And he gave Tim a look that led Michael to believe that this had been a topic that had come up before.

“You could have WARNED me.” Tim snorted.

“You could have checked your PHONE, Boy Wonder.” The larger boy shot back. Tim blinked and fumbled through his pockets, pulling out his phone.

“… Aw, dammit.” He mumbled, reading the -Avengers Assemble! On my way with Bart and Cass!- text, then offered a sheepish grin. “Well, you found us.”

“He did that creepy stalkerish ‘listen to your heart beat’ thing again, didn’t he?” Dick asked.

“Wasn’t that a bad eighties song?” Michael asked, making the others laugh.

“So what are we doing?” Superboy asked.

“Getting clothes for the new kid.” Dick said, stepping aside to completely expose Michael. “So Tim can have his own clothes back… Michael, this is—“

“Superboy.” Michael said. “I know.” Superboy, who had started to extend his hand, looked surprised. “… I saw you a couple of weeks ago… getting help with your homework.”

“Oh!” Superboy exclaimed, then grinned. “I gotcha.” And he finished extending his hand. “Conner.”

“Michael.” He said, accepting the hand. Conner turned. 

“And this is Cassie, and Bart.”

“Hi.” Bart said, and Cassie clasped hands with Michael with a friendly “hello!”

“And… you two are…?” Michael asked, eying them. 

“Kid Flash.” Bart said.

“Wonder Girl.” Cassie nodded. “So… League of Assassins, hmm?”

“Once removed.” Michael snorted, and she grinned.

“Cool.”

“Always fun pissing off Ra’s. Oh yyyyyeah… good times, good times…” Conner laughed, a distant look in his eyes as he reminisced. At Michael’s questioning look, Tim said “Later. Let’s go get you some clothes that are bit less... boring.”

“And maybe a haircut?” Dick asked, eyeing the braid that fell to Michael’s waist and reaching out to poke it. Michael smacked his hand away with a sharp “Back off,” and a warning flash of the eyes. Dick paused, but nodded and respected Michael’s wish.

“Where are we heading?” Conner asked, walking between Cassie and Tim, while Dick walked between Michael and Bart.

“Not sure, just wandering.” Dick called.

“Oh? Well, if you guys don’t mind, I need to hit up Hot Topic for a few more t-shirts.” Conner called, grinning. “With as many as I have to buy, I should REALLY invest in some stock!”

“Wait… you seriously get your S-Shield shirts from Hot Topic?” Dick asked, laughter already present in his tone.

“Yep.” Conner shrugged, and Dick laughed as he elbowed Tim and added, “We can’t ALL dress like a rich boy.”

“Don’t make me break out the kryptonite.” Tim snarled and Conner just mussed up his hair, earning himself a vicious nerve strike that would have crippled a normal man. 

“OW!!! SHIT!” Conner yelped giving Tim a dirty look, and Tim just gave him a smug look in return. Michael noted that the others were all just grinning in amusement at the pair, and soon the group was chattering away about all sorts of things; the end of school, summer vacation plans and how obnoxious their mentors could be (though the others seemed to be of the opinion that Batman was more scary than obnoxious).

When they arrived at Hot Topic Michael eyed it apprehensively, but the others just plowed into the place and started browsing. “Pick what you want.” Dick told Michael. “No pressure. With Conner and the others here, Tim won’t be hanging over you, and I need to find the bathroom. When you’re done, we can all grab lunch. Okay?”

“Okay…” Michael said slowly.

“Seriously. Whatever you want. Even if it’s not clothes. You need to get settled into a new life. So just… jump in. And have fun. We will take care of the bill, no limits, okay?”

“Okay.” Michael finally said, and Dick slipped out of the store to find a bathroom. Michael slowly moved into the store, only to exclaim a soft “Oh,” when a t-shirt sailed through the air and landed on his head, courtesy of Conner. He tugged it off and held it up, then grinned. It was a white shirt with a clown fish on it, and read “SHARK BAIT HOO HAHA”.

“That’s awesome.” He said, grinning at the older boy, tossing it back. “But my rule? NEVER wear white.”

“Why?” Conner asked.

“Because the first time I wear it, I WILL ruin it.” Michael responded, and Conner nodded. 

“Good point.” And he disappeared further into the store. Michal just smiled, then wandered over to the wall of t-shirts, eyes taking them in. And then, he grinned. Oh, this would satisfy the geek in him just fine. 

When Dick returned, Michael had several t-shirts draped over his arm. “Here,” he said. “I’ll carry them. Whatcha got?” And he looked through them as he took them, one by one. “Jedi Academy… Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters—“

“X-Men.”

“I know.” Dick nodded, grinning at the next shirt. “Smile, your life is tolerable.” He read. “Oh, how true… Slytherin?”

“Harry Po—“

“I know. You read the—“

“I read a lot.” Michael said with a nod.

“Durmstrang Institute?”

“Also Potter.” Michael said, tossing Dick another shirt. 

“Metallica, huh?”

“I like music.” Michael said glancing over upon hearing Tim yelp, and grinning when he saw that Bart had jammed a knit cap made to look like a cat on his head, while Conner tried on different pairs of sun glasses. “It’s hard to believe that they are who they are when they’re doing that.”

“Even super heroes have down time.” Dick nodded. “They need to cut loose and be kids, sometimes. Tim forgets that a lot… those three help him remember.” Michael nodded, and both of them laughed when Superboy held up a corset in front of Wonder Girl with a hopeful look, only to get punched… with a punch that would have crushed a normal man’s bones… But then she grabbed it anyway and went to the changing room, eliciting a cheer from Bart and Conner, while Tim just snatched the hat off of his head and turned away, so that his cohorts wouldn’t see him grinning. Michael shook his head and turned back to the shirts, tossing Dick KISS, Def Leppard, Guns n’ Roses and Aerosmith tank tops.

“I think that’s enough.” He mumbled.

“No, keep going. We have to build you a whole new wardrobe, kid.” Dick told him. Michael eyed him and added t-shirts featuring Spider-Man, Deadpool, EMINEM and then a tiny Deadpool clinging to a box of comics and reading “I have issues”, which made Dick laugh. Then came Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, which made Michael smile and say “God I loved these guys when I as a kid,” then Nirvana, Johnny Cash, The Boondock Saints, the Avengers, Animal from The Muppets (Dick raised his eyebrows), Twisted Sister, Disturbed, and then, Michael laughing, a shirt that read “with a shirt like this, who needs pants?”. This was all topped off with an Assassin’s Creed hoodie, a few belts and a variety of interesting socks. This was followed by Michael commenting “I guess these are necessary” and tucking a few packs of boxer-briefs and several pairs of boxers under his arm, apparently too embarrassed to let Dick carry them. He finished off with a pair of black, high top converse, a pair of studded combat boots, and an Assassin’s Creed logo wallet. 

“Good thinking.” Dick nodded. “Pick an iPhone case, too. We’ll need to get you one.”

“Wait… s-seriously?!” Michael blurted from where he watching Wonder Girl modeling the corset for the boys. Conner was offering to buy it for her, Bart was offering her accessories, and Tim was telling her that it just wasn’t HER, and not to let Conner bully her into buying it if she didn’t really want to wear it.

“Of course.” Dick said, blankly.

“Um… Okay…” Michael mumbled, quickly selecting a HALO iPhone cover.

“Go tell the others that we’re checking out.” Dick told him, and Michael made his way over to the four members of the Teen Titans. Cassie had changed out of the corset, and Conner was still trying to talk her into letting him buy it for her. She was NOT caving. But they all turned when Michael approached, still very nervous to be in their presence.

“Done?” Tim asked.

“Dick is paying.” Michael mumbled. 

“Okay. What else do you need?”

“Sneakers, I guess…” Michael shrugged.

“Alright! I love shopping for shoes!” Cassie cheered. 

“Then can we eat?” Bart asked.

“Sure.” Tim nodded. “And then we need to get Michael to a place for furniture for his room.”

“IKEA!!!” Dick shouted across the store.

“… Okay. IKEA.” Tim sighed, rolling his eyes in amused tolerance. And ten minutes later, the group walked out of the store, Conner insisting on carrying all the bags, and only using one finger to do so. The others just humored him and let him show off. At the shoe store, Michael was a fast shopper. He picked out a couple pairs of sneakers, some nice, black ankle boots, and to Dick’s amusement, a pair of black cowboy boots. Michael just grinned and said “Leave me alone. I’m from Texas.”

“I am SO buying you a hat.” Dick announced, and Michael laughed. “Oh, you think I’m kidding, but I’m NOT!!!”

“… It had better come with a long coat and gunbelt.” Michael shot back. “… and a killer moustache... Actually... I probably should get a coat. I hear it gets damn cold here in the winter…” And he made a face, which made Dick laugh.

“Yes, you will definitely need a good winter coat.” Dick agreed, and headed to the register. We'll worry about that later though, we're just into summer.” They were all checked out in no time, and they had to have Conner nearly drag Cassie out of the place with Bart whining the whole time that he was hungry, and soon enough, they were settled into a booth at Olive Garden and Conner was saying “So… rich boys are paying, right?” Cassie roller her eyes, but Tim just smiled and assured Conner that they would. Soon the table was munching away at salad and breadsticks, and quickly placed their orders. Michael went for the Tour of Italy, eager to try the restaurant he had only ever heard or read about, and had only seen on TV.

“So kid…” Dick said as they waited for their food. “Any idea how you wanna do your room?”

“… I dunno…”

“Furniture has probably been moved out by now… Do you want carpet installed?”

“No… the floor is fine.” Michael said, thinking of the pale birch-wood flooring.

“Well, the painters are at the house waiting.” Tim said. “We just have to give them the word.” Michael though for a moment, frowning as he chewed his salad, and then smiled slightly.

“White.”

“… White?” Dick asked.

“Yup.” Michael responded. “White walls… black furniture.”

“… Nice.” Cassie grinned. 

“Black and white?” Dick asked. “That’s it?”

“… the floors are tan.” Michael offered, lamely.

“For color, you accessorize.” Cassie said with a smile.

“… Accessorize?” The boys all echoed.

“Yeah.” Cassie nodded. “Use a throw rug and the bedding. A couple of throw pillows on the sofa…”

“What do I need throw pillows for?” Michael asked, making a face.

“It looks nice.” Cassie said. Michael just turned and looked at Dick, who shrugged. “How about this. You pick the furniture, and I’ll help your decorate.”

“Um… sure?”

And so the group ate their lunch and headed to IKEA. And that in itself was a fiasco… Conner and Bart nearly got them into trouble, horsing around as they were. Michael had to admit, Tim was impressive when he took charge. He could easily tell when he was simply being Tim Drake, and when he was forced into Red Robin to control his fellow heroes. And even more impressive, they listened to him. Michael couldn’t blame them for goofing off, though… they were bored. Hell, he was a bit bored. They spent the entire afternoon in the store. For one, it was completely massive. And for another, there were so many choices. And then Cassie and Dick had to discuss the choices, but finally, they managed to pick out all of the furniture. Simple, minimalistic black furniture. 

While Michael chose a simple small twin sized bed, a laughing Dick Grayson shook his head and scribbled down the inventory number for a king sized bed, telling Michael to trust him, he would appreciate it and could thank him later, and then Conner made a comment about the benefits of a king sized bed that left Michael flushing a deep scarlet. After that it was more Dick and Cassie making the choices… Michael seemed uneasy choosing for himself, and so they would point at something and took a smile, nod and a “nice” as a ‘yes’, and a shrug and “sure” for ‘no’. With this technique they selected two nightstands, a chest of drawers that came up to Michael’s chest, a desk connected to a veritable wall of cube shelving, complete with a desk chair, a very large entertainment center with shelving that framed the television on all four sides, a simple coffee table and a large, plush black leather sofa with a chaise lounge attached. 

Cassie jumped in when they got to textiles, and soon Michael found himself with a large, red area rug and throw pillows for the sofa (which Cassie was still insisting were necessary) and little bamboo plants in red vases for a bit more color around the room (Michael was sure he would just kill them, but Cassie assured him that they were very hardy).

When they went to get the furniture from the warehouse, Dick and Tim stood guard and when no one was near, Conner and Cassie easily lifted all of the furniture onto the special carts and, dramatically overacting, faked immense effort in pushing the carts around. Then Tim dropped his name, using the Wayne surname, and flashed some large bills around to have the furniture delivered to Wayne Manor immediately. 

And while Cassie insisted that there was still so much to do to make Michael’s room properly livable, Dick assured her that Michael would make it his in time. After one final stop at Best Buy they arrived home at about five pm, the IKEA truck behind them. They had the movers just take the stuff out and leave it there on the drive way, and as soon as they were gone (with their hefty tips) Wonder Girl and Superboy got to work. Bruce Wayne, who had just been eating something in the kitchen, wandered out and froze as he watched a dark haired teenage boy fly by with a sofa hefted up over his head.

“… Tim.”

“Hi.” Tim said, carrying in shopping bags from the garage.

“… Did I just see the clone in my foyer?”

“Yes, you just saw CONNER.” Tim said pointedly, annoyed at Bruce’s persistent attitude towards his best friend. Bruce sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“What is he doing here?”

“We’re helping to carry in all the heavy stuff, sir.” Bruce turned and looked at the blonde girl, who seemed to be carrying a massive television in one hand, and a desk in the other.

“Hello, Cassie.” He greeted. “Did Tim call you all for help?”

“Nope!” Bart appeared, zipping in through the front door in a blur, and a look of dismay came over Bruce’s face as the speedster disappeared up the stairs and then shot down again, carrying up box after box of smaller things. As he flashed by he said “Conner… was done with… finals… and wanted… to chill… Tim said… he was… going.. to the mall… So Conner… texted us… and we went… to meet him!”

“They just kind of appeared, Bruce.” Dick said with a grin, walking in with some brand new bed sheets, which Alfred promptly whisked away to be laundered before bed time. Michael wandered in then, looking absolutely amazed and exhausted; in fact, he seemed a bit pale, and was pressing a hand to his abdomen over his healing wound. Bruce gave Dick and Tim a look, then headed in the direction of his study, calling “don’t let Michael over exert himself! And next time, warn me before you let the Teen Titans overrun my home…” Tim and Dick just grinned at how thoroughly disgruntled Mr. Wayne was…

Michael turned and looked at them, and they just smiled and started to climb the stairs.

“… DAMN!” Michael suddenly cried, stopping in his tracks. The other two turned to look back at him. “I forgot pajamas!!!”

“Boxers and t shirt. You’ll be fine.” Dick laughed. “Let’s get your furniture put together and then we’ll have dinner.”

“Okay.” Michael nodded with a smile, continuing to limp up the stairs.

“With Bart, they may already be done.” Tim chortled, trotting up the stairs after them. And he probably would have been right, if Conner and Bart had actually been working. Instead, they were beating each other with long pieces of cardboard, while Cassie just watched them, annoyed.

“Alright, alright, enough.” Dick called, walking into the room. The pair stopped their shenanigans and turned to look at him. “Let’s get the bed put together first.” Bart became a blur, and seconds later the pieces were unpacked and Dick caught the instructions as they fluttered past him. “Thanks…” He mumbled offhandedly, looking them over. Michael was sent to just perch on the window seat and watch as his bedroom was quickly put together, as Dick didn’t want him to strain himself and bring the wrath of one Doctor Leslie Thompkins down upon them all. But the work went fast, when you had Superboy and Wonder Girl’s strength to hold pieces where they needed to be held, and Kid Flash manning the Allen Wrench… There were a couple of jokes about Bart Allen being the Allen wrench guy. All Dick did was delegate, while Tim unpacked the pieces and organized the trash, so it wouldn’t end up everywhere. 

Soon, it was all assembled… Sofa, bed, night stands, the chest of drawers, the desk and shelving, the coffee table and entertainment center. They quickly hooked up all of the electronics that Michael had insisted that he didn’t need, but Conner had insisted that he did indeed have to have, since Bruce Wayne was footing the bill… He had a 70 inch LED Flatscreen Smart HDTV with surround sound, an XBOX One and 360 with nearly two dozen of the more classic games that he had picked; the full HALO and Assassin’s Creed Series, some Star Wars and Lord of the Rings games and several things like FABLE, Final Fantasy, and Skyrim. He got the newest computer on the market, which a smirking Timothy Drake told him would be upgraded “properly”, whatever that meant, a printer, an iPod (he was thrilled) and two iPhones (“one for work”, Dick had explained).

Cassie set up the docking station for all of his new gadgets and showed him how they all worked, and then set out his little bamboo plants, commenting that he should get a betta fish. And finally, when everything was put together and put away, Dick called out for pizza and Michael plopped down on the sofa, ready to break in his new video game consoles, and Bart and Conner looked more than ready to help him.

________________________________________

Bruce happened to be wandering towards the kitchen when the doorbell rang. When he opened it, he found a pizza delivery girl, grunting under the weight of what looked like six large pizzas. Smiling, he took the pizzas from her and passed her the cash for them, with a substantial tip, then bid her good evening and headed up the stairs. He could easily hear the shouts and laughter coming from the previously unoccupied room at the end of the hall around the corner. When he walked in, he looked around in surprise. It was completely different now, with the fresh paint and new furniture, but looked exactly like the kind of room that a teenage boy would have… though it did look very empty and impersonal. 

On the large sofa sat Cassie, Dick, Michael and Bart. Tim was sitting at the computer typing away, downloading various programs as he chatted with Oracle; judging by the tools around him, he had already opened the machine and installed various upgrades (some of which were less than legal). The clone (Conner, reminded Tim’s voice in his head) was floating about five feet off of the floor and shouting as he flailed about with his video game controller, as if that would help him play. It appeared that he was playing against Bart, Dick and Michael, as they were all running around shooting each other’s characters and cursing each other out as they did so. Bruce mildly thought that Alfred would have his work cut out for him, trying to reign in Michael’s mouth, as the language flying out of it was… colorful, to say the least.

“Pizza’s here, guys,” Cassie called, standing and walking over to Bruce, shrugging when her words got no reaction.

“Who’s winning?” Bruce asked, dryly.

“Hard to keep track, but Michael, I think. The others don’t play video games often. Apparently Michael plays a LOT.” And she grinned, taking the pizzas from him. “Dick ordered enough for you and Alfred, too.”

“I doubt Alfred will want to be present for this,” Bruce commented, blinking when Michael howled at the top of his lungs “You fuckin’ flying super-douche asshat!”

“What did you call me?!” Conner demanded to know, trying to sound angry but laughing at the same time.

“AfuckingflyingsuperdoucheasshatOHGRAYSONYOUJERKYOU’LLPAYFORTHAT!!!” Bart screeched, as Dick suddenly burst out laughing and blurted “OWNED!!!” and a red and yellow character in armor went flying across the screen in a massive explosion.

“Who has the rocket launcher!?” Conner yelped.

“GRAYSON!” Bart snarled, leaning over sideways as if he could peer around an on-screen corner as his character respawned.

“We’re all dead.” Conner growled.

“That depends…” Michael snickered.

“On what?” Dick asked, grinning.

“On if I can make this shot.” Michael said, and pulled the trigger.

Dick’s black and blue character dropped.

“Oooohhh…“ Bart and Conner commiserated.

“Nice head shot.” Conner grinned, and Michael let out an evil chuckle, saying “I love the sniper rifle…”

“Somebody kill him,” Dick hissed, “and do NOT let him get that sniper rifle again!!!”

“No kidding.” Bart snorted, and Michael’s eyes widened.

“Hey… HEY!!! This is every man for himself!” He cried, switching from lounging back in the couch to sitting up straight and leaning forwards as his character ran.

“Not anymore, it’s not!” Conner crowed, and Michael was now running from the other three.

By now, Cassie and Bruce were on their second slices of pizza and Tim had wandered over to snag his first.

“Michael still handing them their asses?” He asked.

“Maybe.” Cassie grinned. “But it seems they have now formed an alliance against him.”

“Ah,” Tim nodded. Less than five bloody minutes later and the game was over.

“Heh… And I still won…” Michael taunted, setting the controller down as he eyed his statistics, pleased.

“… Bart, you had six suicides?” Conner asked, feet finally touching the floor.

“Shut up! My fingers move too fast for the controller, much less the character!” Bart complained.

“Food!” Dick cheered, hopping over the back of the sofa and walking over to where the pizza boxes were set on the dresser. “Hey, Bruce.” Bruce nodded, his mouth full of pizza. “I think we’ve got Michael pretty much settled in.”

“Good,” Bruce said, swallowing. “Make sure you get him registered for school in August.”

“Do I have to?” Michael whined under his breath.

“Yes,” Dick, Bruce and Tim all said in unison.

“Tough break, man.” Conner grinned, taking a big bite of pizza.

“Why don’t you like school?” Cassie asked, sitting next to Michael. “I like school.”

“Never been. I was homeschooled. On a ranch in the middle of nowhere.”

“… Oh.” Cassie said, and Michael sighed.

“I’m not used to being around people. High school just sounds… makes me feel a bit claustrophobic just thinking about it.”

“Well, give it a chance. You may like it.” Cassie said with a smile. “And even if you don’t like it, it’s only for another two or three years.” Michael gave Cassie a dirty look at that, and she couldn’t hold back the laughter… it came out as a snort, which was the trigger to send everyone into gales of laughter, with the exception of Bruce, who just watched the group of teenagers… and Dick Grayson. 

“So what’s your cover gonna be?” Conner asked.

“Cover?” Michael asked.

“Yeah. I’m the quiet, socially awkward guy… Tim is the big dweeb—“

“Hey!”

“You ARE! You even played those table top RPG games!”

“That was junior high!” Tim protested.

“Did you, or did you not, play Warlocks & Warriors with your friends?” Conner asked, grinning.

“… Shut up.” Tim snapped, glaring.

“Hah.” Was all Conner said, a triumphant grin on his face.

“So what’s your plan?” Cassie asked, looking back to Michael.

“I dunno.” Michael mumbled around his half-chewed pizza.

“He has time to figure it out.” Dick said. “Now… Let’s go again…” And he picked up one of the XBOX controllers, and so did Michael, Conner and Bart.

“Here we go again.” Cassie sighed, and Tim just grinned at her.

The video game pizza party lasted until nearly one am, when Conner suddenly said “Hey… Bat Signal.” Everyone turned and looked out the window, and sure enough, the light could be seen shining in the sky. And a moment later, Tim’s cell went off. He picked it up and answered, “Yeah? Hm… Okay. On it.” And he stood. “Dick. Bruce has his hands full.”

“Right.” Dick nodded, setting down his controller and standing. “Michael looks ready to pass out, anyway.”

“And I need to head home.” Bart confessed. “My curfew was an hour ago.”

“… Nice.” Cassie sighed. “Mine is coming up soon. Conner?”

“I don’t have one.” Conner grinned, and looked at Tim. “Mind if I tag along? I could use some Gotham Style fun.”

“Come on, then.” Tim said with a grin. “I could use the laugh at the looks on bad guy faces when they see the S-Shield backing me up.”

“Oh, that IS always classic…” Dick chuckled.

“… Thanks for all your help.” Michael said softly.

“Good to meet ya, man.” Conner said, waving back at Michael as he followed Tim out of the room. Cassie shook his hand, and Bart waved and then it was just Michael and Dick. The pair gathered leftover pizza into two boxes and then Dick said “Just go to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow.” And then he left.

Michael sighed, looking around his new room with a smile, and then went to grab a shower before heading to bed… Dick was right. He was damn tired…

________________________________________


	8. Chapter 8

The days following the shopping trip and Michael meeting some of Tim’s fellow Teen Titans were relatively quiet. Michael spent them either on the computer, downloading music to his iPod, playing video games or studying the files on the tablet that Tim had given him. He often did this outside in the yard sitting under shady trees, which he’d never had the pleasure of doing before… there were no large trees out on the compound where he had grown up, and there definitely wasn’t thick, soft grass to sit on, either. The simple natural landscape of the region was a lush garden to him, and sitting on the grass under a towering old oak was a luxury he had never experienced. 

Alfred had taken to frequently bringing him fresh lemonade and light snacks, and Dr. Thompkins had been pleased to see that Michael was out getting fresh air, but still relaxing and not pushing his body. “If only YOU would be so compliant with medical advice,” she had spat at Bruce, who pretended not to hear her.

But the peace was not to last… 

One afternoon, a dark car pulled up in front of the house and a child climbed out of the back seat, shouldered a duffel bag and strode up the front steps, waving the car away as he let himself into Wayne Manor. The house was quiet. A quick glance in the kitchen showed no sign of Alfred, and so the boy, about ten years old, began to climb the stairs. He strode up to the first door down the hall and opened it, disarming a booby trap that would fling poisoned shuriken at whoever opened the door. He dropped his duffel and flipped on the lights, eyes scanning his room. All was as he had left it. He turned and stepped out into the hallway again, mind set on a snack and finding the old valet, Alfred, to alert him to his arrival. But something caught the corner of his eye. 

He turned and looked towards the doorway at the end of the hall, past Drake and Grayson’s rooms. The room, which was unused and unoccupied, had lights on and the door was ajar. Frowning, the boy turned and headed towards it, fingers twitching towards the vicious knife he had concealed up his left sleeve. When he arrived at the door he narrowed his eyes. He could see through the crack in the door that the room was not as it had been when he had left. It had had dark blue walls with light oak furniture… an unused guest room. But now… The walls were white, the furniture was sleek, black, minimalistic. The throw on the bed was a deep blood red. There was a computer at a desk, its screen saver casting shapes and colors across the screen. Slowly the boy pushed the door open further, its well maintained hinges not even squeaking. He eyed the sofa and the video game controllers on the coffee table, the dirty socks on the floor. The television was off. But then, something caught his attention and he strode in rapidly, his eyes wide and burning. Propped against the wall by the nightstand, closest to the window, was a katana. 

He reached out and grasped the scabbard, picking it up and seizing the hilt, drawing the blade from its sheathe. His eyes now narrowed and his entire body tensed, ready to respond to a potentially imminent threat. This blade was no show piece; it had been used. It had seen battle. He set the blade down and whirled, now looking more closely at the room and its contents. His eyes fell upon the bed, which it appeared had already been made. But not by Alfred… it wasn’t neat enough to be Alfred. The boy flipped down the covers and inspected the sheets and pillows, then reached out and plucked up a hair. I was a long strand, thick and black and nearly two feet in length. He dropped the hair and made his way over to the chest of drawers, jerking them open and inspecting the clothing he found within, noting the sizes of the t shirts and jeans.

The occupant of the room was a teenaged male, he pieced together, probably around five feet, six inches tall, give or take, and likely between 125 and 175 pounds in weight. And he knew combat. And that made him a threat. 

The boy turned and rushed from the room, returning to his own and snatching his personal sword off of its rack on the wall before taking off down the stairs, leaving his sneakers behind that he might move with more silence and precision. He began to search the house then, seeking out anyone who might give him answers in regards to this intruder, or for the intruder himself. His search eventually took him to the back of the house, and he caught movement in the back yard. 

Pennyworth stood there under a large oak, a tray in his hand. He was looking down, then nodded and turned, heading back towards the house. And then the mystery person was revealed. The boy had been right; mid teens, about five and a half feet, probably 155 pounds. He was in a t shirt and jeans with bare feet and long hair braided down his back. On his left arm was a pink, puckered scar, obviously a recent wound healing.

As Alfred approached the back door, tray in hand, he started as the boy stepped out onto the terrace.

“My word!” He exclaimed. “Master Damian! You’re home early!” 

Damian did not look at the man; he would not take his eyes off of the young man out in the yard. Alfred immediately felt uneasy; he remembered well how Damian had tried to murder Tim Drake, way back when… Bruce was out at the moment. The plan had been for Bruce to explain about Michael to Damian before letting the young boy meet him, so as to avoid a possible blood bath.

“Please, come inside. We will get you something to eat and get you settled in…”

“Who is that.” Damian demanded, his tone hard and cold, and very much what Alfred had feared.

“That young man will be staying with us for a while. Master Bruce will explain everything and you will meet him later this evening.”

“I will meet him now,” Damian contradicted, and strode across the terrace. Alfred watched him go, eyes widening and heart plummeting when he saw the sword in Damian’s hand. 

Immediately, he slipped a finger to the underside of his watch and pressed a tiny button, setting off the alarms in the Cave and paging a red alert to Bruce, Dick and Tim, and then, tapping away in Morse Code, he simply sent ‘DAMIAN. MICHAEL’, and then prayed for a rapid response.

Across the yard, Michael felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, and his body immediately tensed in reaction. Slowly, he set down the glass of lemonade and raised his eyes. Standing about twenty yards before him was a young boy in jeans, a solid dark green t-shirt and bare footed. He was in a hostile fighting stance, scabbard clutched in his left hand, his right up and ready to draw the blade at a moment’s notice. Michael felt a shiver of both dread and excitement run up his spine. There was no doubting who this was; he could see the resemblance in his face… in his eyes… in his very stance. This was Damian Wayne, son of the Batman, Grandson of Ra’s Al Ghul, the Demon’s Head. And he was possibly (probably... okay, definitely) the most dangerous kid on the face of the earth. Michael was still recovering from his wounds… but he knew, even were he in top form, he was no match for this deadly child…

He probably never would…

“Who are you, and what are you doing in my father’s house.” The boy demanded to know, in a voice that would invoke fear in most. Michael planned each and every move with careful consideration, and every word with extreme caution; one wrong move and he was dead. Slowly, he set the tablet aside and pushed himself up from the ground, climbing to his feet. He was sure to keep his hands visible to Damian at all times, and forced his body to relax. His amber eyes never wavered from Damian’s icy gaze, even as he distantly registered the arrival of Tim Drake and Dick Grayson on the back terrace, worried eyes fixed on the scene before them.

Then, slowly, he moved his hands before himself, fisting his right hand and pressing it into the palm of his left as he bent at the waist, offering Damian the Warrior’s Bow and one of the formal greetings of the League. “Honored greetings to you, Damian, son of Talia, daughter of The Demon’s Head. May fortune favor your blade, and your victories be many.”

“… Who are you?” Damian asked, now sounding surprised though he had laid his hand on the hilt of the sword.

“An ally, and a brother in arms, should you find me worthy.” Michael said, in the most humble tone he could muster, and trying to keep his nerves out of his voice. His heart was pounding and his adrenaline pumping as he tried to decide which direction to run, should Damian attack...

“His name is Michael.” Dick called, jogging over with Tim at his heels. “He’s been here for nearly a month.”

“Tch…” Damian tutted, turning and giving Tim a look. “Trying to replace me as soon as I leave, Drake?”

“Actually, Dick found him.” Tim said, giving Damian a cold glare.

“Who is he and what is he doing here.” Damian growled.

“His name is Michael D’Ambrosio, and he’s come from a clan of assassins who defected from the League.” Everyone turned when Bruce came striding across the lawn. “He’s here because I offered him sanctuary from the League.”

“And you believe him, father?” Damian scoffed.

“I do. Because his story checks out.” Bruce said, sternly. “I looked into it.” Damian narrowed his eyes. “He’s the only survivor. And Ra’s himself confirmed it.” 

Damian turned and eyed Michael for a moment, then said “You’re the traitor I’ve heard mentioned on several occasions.”

Michael closed his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh, groaning “How can I be a traitor if I was never in the League to begin with?!”

“You’re the one who defied grandfather.”

“THAT was awesome.” Tim grinned, and a moment later the corner of Damian’s mouth twitched.

“I heard he was displeased.”

“No disrespect intended towards YOU,” Michael grunted, “but I really don’t give a damn. He has NO authority over me and never will. What he needs is to deflate his ego.”

Everyone now turned to see Damian’s reaction. He was once again giving Michael an appraising look. “Did you really have the audacity to call grandfather a coward?” He finally asked.

Michael’s eyes widened, but Dick, Tim and Bruce all grinned. “Oh, YEAH, he did.” Dick nodded, and Tim looked at Damian and said “I believe it was something along the lines of, ‘you’re centuries old with the skills and knowledge that comes with, you command the League of Assassins, but you are a coward because you still fear death. You claim to be fighting for the natural order of the world but you go running to the Lazarus Pit—“

“He said ‘slither like a snake’!” Dick interrupted.

“—because you’re not man enough to submit to nature yourself, so you’re also a hypocrite. You send others to die fighting in your stead’ and then he told Ra’s that he was weak.” Tim finished.

Damian was silent for a long time after Tim had finished speaking. “He used those words, Drake?” He asked. “Coward… hypocrite… weak.” He glanced at Dick. “Called him a snake?” His eyes darted back to Tim when the young man nodded.

“He used those words.” Tim confirmed.

“Hnh.” Damian huffed, turning and looking at Michael again. And then, he smirked. “Father… I like him.” And then he shouldered his sword, spun on his heel and began heading back to the house, calling “I will permit him to stay. Whether or not he is worthy to fight with us, remains to be seen. Perhaps he may prove himself in the gym.”

Michael looked at the three men around him, baffled. Tim just sighed and let his head fall into his hand, muttering obscenities under his breath, all directed at Damian’s retreating figure. Dick had shoved one hand into his pocket and was running his hand through his hair, laughing. Bruce had folded his arms over his chest and his lips were quirked slightly in his amusement as he called “Not anytime soon, Damian. He’s recovering from a gunshot wound. I don’t want you talking him into heading into the gym before Dr. Thompkins clears him.”

“NOW who’s the hypocrite?” Damian called over his shoulder.

“Ohhhh!!!” Tim and Dick chorused, looking at Bruce. He gave them a glare, and then said “As if you two are innocent,” and then followed Damian back to the house. Dick and Tim watched him go, grinning, and then turned to look at Michael.

“And now you’ve met Damian.” Dick announced.

“Lucifer’s spawn…”

“Tim…”

“What?!”

Dick just shook his head, then looked at Michael. “How did you know how to handle Damian? That was BRILLIANT.”

Michael shrugged, leaning back against the tree. “I learned about the League. I listened to how you all talked about him. And… I just… knew. When I saw him. How he looked at me, how he spoke to me… how he held himself.”

“… You psychoanalyzed him?” Dick asked. “Nice.”

“If that’s what it’s called…” Michael said. “I guess I just… trusted my instincts. He looked like he would have an ego like his grandfather, and I should cater to that.”

Tim and Dick glanced at each other. Dick shrugged, and Tim grinned. “Good instincts.”

“Thanks.” Michael nodded, kneeling and scooping up his tablet and lemonade. “So… What’s for dinner?”

“No clue.” Dick said as they all headed back into the house. 

________________________________________

Dinner that night was braised lamb shanks with twice baked potatoes and asparagus, following a tomato bisque and salad and finishing up with simple ice cream sundaes. Of course, pleasant conversation had begun over soup, with Dick politely asking Damian how his wilderness survival training went, and Damian complained that it was incredibly dull and nauseatingly simple; hardly a challenge at all to survive on his own for one month.

“Where were you?” Michael asked.

“Forests North of Vancouver.” Bruce said, and Michael chuckled.

“Of course it was easy. That part of the continent is ripe with flora and fauna. Rich in resources.” 

“Your point?” Damian asked, coldly.

“If you want a challenge, try surviving for a month in the wilderness where I came from.” Michael announced. Damian cocked his head. “Red dirt and rocks that hardly anything can grow in, asice from cotton… dry creek and river beds, tumbleweeds, scrub brush and only a handful of deer, roadrunners and coyotes. A few wild hogs that could easily kill you, the occasional porcupine and rabbit, and lots of buzzards. Hunting can be hard, because there’s not much cover. Water is scarce and it’s either burning hot or freezing cold… Cactus, rattlers and scorpions everywhere…”

“… now THAT sounds like a challenge.” Damian blurted, looking excited. “Have you done survival training out there?”

“Of course. We all did.” Michael said. “… It sucked.”

“Ever been bitten by a rattlesnake?” Damian asked.

Michael paused, then looked down. “No. But… my brother did.”

“Brother? What brother?” Bruce asked, looking up.

“… I uh… I was five. Raphael was about… eighteen months.” Michael said softly. “It was a big, Western Diamondback. Raphael… they took him to the hospital but he… didn’t make it. Dead on arrival…”

“… I’m sorry.” Bruce said, softly.

“It’s okay. It hit mom hard… it was a while before she and dad tried to have kids again. She got pregnant when I was nine, but miscarried. Never was able to get pregnant again after that.” Silence followed his words and he continued, just trying to fill the silence. “It was… another brother. They named him Uriel David. Raphael was… Raphael William.”

“Michael. Raphael. Uriel.” Damian repeated. 

“We were named after ArchAngels, saints, and great kings. The only kid on the compound older than me was Gabriel Augustus. His parents started that, my parents liked it and continued it when I was born on St. Michael’s Feast Day. So did the other parents… a monarch, and a saint or angel. The next child was a girl, her name was Katherine Agatha. They did the Saint’s name before the King for the boys, and the Queen before the Saint for the girls. Gabe’s sister was Elizabeth Ariel.”

“What king were you named after?” Damian asked.

“Alexander the Great.”

“Hm.” Damian responded.

“Big name to live up to.” Tim said. “Alexander and Saint Michael both.”

“Both great generals… warriors.” Bruce nodded.

“That was my dad’s intention.” Michael smiled.

“Who was he in the League?” Damian asked.

“His name was Theo. Before he defected, he was posted in the League’s stronghold in Rome. He met my mother when she followed a target from Tokyo; she was already half Italian, though, and used to be posted in Venice before she was transferred to Japan.”

“Tell me of your training.” Damian commanded, and the rest of conversation at the table was Michael explaining what kind of training he had been given, and answering frequent questions from a very inquisitive Damian, who seemed to be fascinated with the idea of people defecting from the League and successfully hiding from them for so long. He had Michael explain to him how an average day went; “Get up, go for a five mile run Monday, Wednesday, Friday, or weight training Tuesday and Thursday, breakfast, chores, lessons, lunch, combat training, lessons, dinner, free time, bed. Saturday nights, we played capture the flag in the surrounding land once the sun went down after dinner... Saturdays we got to study whatever we wanted, our chosen specialty, once chores were done, Sunday was a day of rest and recreation.” Michael recited.

“Specialties?” Damian asked. 

“Hand to hand, firearms, stealth, hacking, intelligence, melee and ranged weapons, medicine and poisons, whatever…”

“What was yours?”

“Gymnastics and Melee weapons.” Michael responded. “Staff, sword, stuff like that. Hand-held, close combat weapons.” Damian looked pleased at that, announcing that Michael may have potential as an ally after all.

“As if YOU make that decision…” Tim muttered into his sundae.

“What did you do in your free time?” Dick asked quickly, before Damian could throw something at Tim with lethal intent… like a spoon.

“Read… watch TV, play video games… music.”

“Listen or play?” Dick asked.

“Both.” Michael said. “Sunday evenings after dinner there was always music, singing, dancing…”

“Really?” Dick asked. 

“Yeah. We were from all over the world, so we taught each other things; after all, we never left the compound… no going to the movies or the malls for us. Everything we did was limited to what could be done on the compound with each other, and usually meant sharing what we knew. Gabe’s mom was from Egypt and knew traditional belly dancing, Katherine’s dad was Irish so he taught us a bit of step dancing, Isabella’s parents were from Spain and taught us Flamenco, I mean… we learned a lot of classical stuff like waltz and tango, but the kids picked up stuff we saw on television… YouTube…”

“Like what?” Dick asked, grinning.

“All kinds of stuff; I liked Michael Jackson. We would have competitions between each other.”

“What a waste of time.” Damian scoffed and Michael looked at him.

“The Master didn’t think so. He encouraged it. He told us to immerse ourselves in it; it was another way of working and training our bodies and minds. See a dance move, and have the observation skills and physical ability to duplicate it.” Michael debated. “Dancers are athletes. And some moves requite a lot of balance and flexibility, and some come to gymnastics and acrobatics. I’ve found it can help you be more… fluid.”

“A very valid point.” Bruce nodded.

“And there’s more to life than fighting.” Michael added. “Life is something to enjoy. And dancing is fun.”

“Hear hear!” Dick cheered, and Tim grinned. Damian looked skeptical, but said nothing.

“Just wait until you’re better before you decide to bust a move.” Tim told Michael, who nodded his understanding. And then Tim turned and looked at Damian, saying “And if you’re going to grow up here in Wayne Manor and attend functions with us, YOU’RE going to have to learn to dance at some point, too.” 

Damian’s face was overcome with a look of horror and dismay, and he blurted “As in, with GIRLS?” 

“Unless you prefer boys. Which is just fine, Damian. We’ll accept you no matter what.” Dick grinned, making the others laugh as Damian leveled a lethal glare onto Dick.

“Sir…” Everyone quieted and looked up at Alfred, standing in the doorway. “The Signal is on, sir.” Immediately, smiles faded, eyes sharpened and faces hardened.

“Thank you.” Bruce said, standing, and the young men around the table followed his lead, standing and heading down to the Bat Cave. They suited up, and soon, Michael was watching them head out. Damian was in the passenger seat of the Batmobile, Tim was moving into his red sport coupe, that was more than a bit tricked out, and Nightwing sat astride a monster of a motorcycle.

Michael sighed as he watched them roar out of the cave, the Batmobile first, and Nightwing beside the RedBird. “Never you fear, young sir.” Alfred said, calmly. “It will only be a matter of time before you are with them, if that is truly what you wish.”

“… I do.” Michael said. “I’m a warrior. I don’t like to be sidelined.”

“But you are still human, and you need to rest and recover.” Alfred told him. “You will be ready to face Gotham with them before you know it.”

“Sounds good.” He told the old man. “… I think my mom would really have liked you.”

Alfred smiled. “And your father?”

“Oh, he would have liked Dick.” Michael said immediately and Alfred chuckled, then said “You just reminded me… I have something for you.” Michael blinked and followed the man. “It was delivered a couple of weeks ago, I simply have been… waiting for the right time, I suppose.” And he walked over to the front closet and pulled out a flat package. Michael blinked and took it, prying open the box and pulling out a large, simple black picture frame that would match his bedroom. He pulled away the tissue paper from the front, and stared. His mouth fell open slightly.

“I found the photo in your back pack when Master Bruce first brought you here.” Alfred said, softly. “It was quite damaged. But I had it… blown up and restored for you.”

It was the photo of Michael with his parents on his fifteenth birthday, mere weeks before he lost them… the photo he had taken from the broken frame that lay in the dust amongst the bodies of his family, the defectors of the League. The little 4x6 photo had been folded, crumpled, worn and faded, but Alfred was right. Whoever it was he had given it to was a master at their craft. The image had been restored and blown up to a full 16 x 24, professionally matted and framed.

“They look like they were lovely people.” Alfred said gently. Michael couldn’t speak. He closed his eyes trying to fight back the burning tears, but he slowly bowed his head and curled his arms around the picture, hugging it tightly to his chest. “They would be proud of you.” Alfred told him, and Michael’s breath hitched as he was unable to hold it back any longer. He felt the old man’s arms around him and he leaned forwards into his comforting embrace, unable to fight back the grief any longer. Alfred just stood there and let him, and when he had cried himself into exhaustion, he guided the young man to his room, made sure he didn’t need anything, and then let him alone. 

Michael changed into a pair of pajama pants, and then sat in the dark on the window seat, staring at the picture for a long time, absently tracing his parents’ features. His mother; petite, almost delicate, soft spoken, not overly pretty but with a demure smile that was more than enchanting. His father with his strong, handsome features and almost devilish grin, looking like a cocky Casanova. His father was always laughing; Theo was the only one who could make his mother smile. Midori was quiet and reserved, the stern disciplinarian in their home. But Michael remembered her loving, motherly side; tucking him in at night, singing him to sleep running her fingers through his hair… his father had been the fun one. He would read him stories before bed, and sometimes he would sing too. But Midori didn’t usually let him, because if Theo started singing, Michael would join in and he’d NEVER get to sleep.

Sleep… he was so tired. 

Michael rose from the window seat and crossed the room to his bed, gently setting the photo down on the bedside table and sliding into bed…

He dreamed of his childhood home that night, and of the family that he lost…

________________________________________

The next two weeks were quiet and uneventful. Dick returned to Bludhaven for a while, and Tim headed over to the West Coast to work with the Titans for much of it. Bruce and Damian were out every night and slept most of the day, and so this left Michael mostly to himself. For a bit he continued with his routine of video games, TV and studying the tablet out in the back yard, but this quickly became stale. He was restless and his body was itching to move. When he asked Alfred about the gym that Damian had mentioned, he got a finger in his face and resounding “NO.”

Discouraged, he resigned himself to continuing as he had been. Of course, that lasted all of one day. So the next morning he pulled on his sneakers for the first time and headed out onto the grounds with his iPod and spent the next few hours until lunch just walking. When he returned, Alfred had demanded to know what he had been up to, and Michael honestly explained that he had been going stir crazy and so he had spent the morning exploring the grounds, promising the mother hen in the guise of a valet that walking was the only physical activity he had done. While Alfred was simply mollified, Bruce had given him a grin and told him that he admired his ability to mind his doctor’s orders; any of the rest of them would already be back out on the Gotham roof tops.

Michael immediately responded with “When can I do that?!” and Bruce informed him that there was much more involved than just his physical recovery to determine that, and advised him to keep studying. And Michael did so with renewed vigor. Rather than sit under the great oak, he took to walking the grounds every morning and afternoon, eyes on the tablet as he read and studied maps, or wore headphones in his ears as he had information dictated to him by the tablet. By the second week he found himself restless even with the walking, and so, once out of sight of the manor, he tucked the tablet into a backpack and began to jog. And to his delight, his body seemed more than up for it. He felt a bit tired the first day and was achy on the second, but by day four he just felt good. 

At the end of the second week he was all out running, darting through the trees, hurdling fallen logs and low bushes and jumping over the creek that ran through the property, and at the beginning of the third week, he finally did what he had been longing to do; he moved in a full out sprint directly towards a large tree with a low branch, charged up the trunk and leaped up, grasping the branch and pulling himself up into the leaves. And he didn’t stop. He climbed, savoring the slight burn as his arms now got to work, pulling him up higher and higher into the branches until he was nearly fifty feet up. And only then, when the branches looked as though they might not hold him, did he stop. A wide smile on his face, he plopped himself down on a branch and leaned back against the trunk, staring up at the flashes of blue sky between the leaves. And he spent the rest of his afternoon on his lofty perch, studying the maps of Gotham and committing the gang territories to memory.

Alfred was not pleased when Michael returned, his face flushed and sweaty as he fought to catch his breath from his run back to the house. Dick had returned to the manor and just grinned, saying “Well, that took longer than I thought.” Michael smiled at him as Alfred berated the both of them and sent Michael to wash up before dinner.

“What did you do?” Damian asked as they were finishing their meals and waiting on dessert.

“Huh?”

“Pennyworth has been glaring at you all evening.” Damian clarified.

“Michael came back out of breath, flushed and sweaty.” Dick announced.

“Finally broke the exercise restriction rule, huh?” Bruce asked, and Michael gave him a sheepish smile.

“I was going out of my mind.” He simply said.

“Alfred has probably called Leslie to give you a look over tomorrow.” Tim said with smirk.

“I don’t care. I feel fine.”

“You’re going to get an earful.” Bruce warned him.

“Worth it,” Michael said with a broad grin.

And it was. Even as he was thoroughly berated by Dr. Thompkins the next day, he held fast to his opinion that it was worth, and even boldly told her so. She was a bit taken aback by this, but Damian looked more than amused. He was obviously eager to see what this new kid was capable of, just as the others were, but Damian was determined to be the first to test him. And so, that evening, he found himself knocking on Michael’s bedroom door. 

Michael was slightly surprised to see Damian, as this was the first time that the child had sought him out, but he quickly recognized the training garb that Damian was now wearing. Damian didn’t even get a chance to say a word. Michael just grinned and glanced down the hall to make sure no one had seen them, then tugged Damian in and closed the door, saying “I’ll get changed.”

Damian smirked and plopped himself down on the couch while Michael hurried into the closet and emerged a few moment later in his assassin’s uniform. “Haven’t had a chance to patch it up yet,” he told Damian, allowing the younger boy to see the rips and holes in the fabric.

“Not like you’ll be wearing it much.” Damian stated calmly, and the pair peeked out the door, and finding the corridor empty, stole down the hall and headed down the stairs, ears open for any sounds to betray the approach of Dick, Tim, Bruce or Alfred.

“What do you mean?” Michael asked.

“Drake and Grayson are designing something more suitable for you to wear.” Damian answered.

“What?”

“A proper uniform with all the gear and tech.”

“You mean… like you guys? As Batman, Robin, Nightwing, Red Robin?”

“Exactly.” Damian nodded, then smirked again. “I have already suggested a few… adjustments to make it a bit more tailored to someone trained in the ways of the League.”

“Wow…” Michael breathed, slipping through a door behind Damian, who closed it and flicked the lights on. “Ah. So THIS is the gym.”

“Hn,” Damian grunted an affirmative and headed towards the open padded floor that served as a sparring ground. 

Michael followed, saying “You’re going to have to go easy on me. Not only am I not at 100%, but I know that your training has been well beyond the level of what I received. You would have gotten the absolute best in the League. I know I cannot possibly best you.” Damian nodded, looking adequately pleased with Michael’s admission.

“You have defied the League. And defied my Grandfather.” He announced. “You have courage that I approve of. In that you are worthy. But to call you Brother in Arms, you must prove your worth in combat.”

“I would have it no other way.” Michael smiled, moving to stand across from Damian.

“No weapons. No masks.” Damian said. “I would see you, as you are. Hand to hand, man to man. Your wounds?”

“Here,” Michael said, pressing one hand to his abdomen, then reaching over his shoulder and tapping his back, “here. I believe the others have healed past any point of concern.”

“Understood.” Damian nodded, and then the pair bowed and took their stance.

________________________________________

Bruce Wayne walked down the hall, seeking out Alfred as to the location of a certain tuxedo he planned to wear to an event that upcoming weekend. He paused when heard a distant shout. He paid it no mind, at first. Damian was often training in the gym. But then he heard another voice. And that was not Damian. Nor was it Tim, or Dick. Frowning, Bruce headed down the hall, eyes on the door with a light shining under it. When he got there, he listened.

Yes, that was Michael and Damian. Great… he was going to catch hell from Leslie and Alfred. Slowly, he cracked open the door and peered in.

The pair were in the midst of a sparring match, but it appeared they had been at it for quite a while. Both were flushed and sweaty, and both already sported some battle scars. Damian’s nose was bleeding and a bruise was blossoming on his jaw. Michael had a split lip and an eye that was swelling up; he would have a spectacular black eye come morning. He also had a cut over his eyebrow and was blinking the blood out of his eyes.

Bruce watched as Damian flew into the air, narrowly missing Michael with a picture-perfect butterfly kick. Michael had ducked under it and brought his knee up to slam Damian in the gut, but the child blocked it with his forearm, not even wincing at the blow. He gripped Michael’s ankle and twisted his leg. Michael allowed his body to twist with it, before letting himself fall as he brought his other leg up and kicked at Damian’s head. Damian blocked this with his other arm and lunched forward, bringing a fist down towards Michael’s solar plexus as his back hit the floor. Michael swept Damian’s arm aside with an outer forearm block and hooked his other arm around to follow with a punch. Damian blocked this and, with both arms now out to the side, swung his leg around in an axe kick towards Michael’s chest. Michael rolled, grunting as he took the blow to his bicep instead of his chest, and was on his feet in an instant.

Damian circled him and Michael wavered, then allowed his right knee to buckle, and he sunk down gasping “Yield...” Damian eyed him, then allowed his guard to drop and he straightened, nodding.

“A month of near complete inactivity finally catching up?” Damian asked.

“Longer… and a bullet to the gut and an arrow to the back, yes,” Michael panted, and Damian smirked.

“Indeed… Not bad. For someone as out of shape as you are. Even with that, you show more skill than some assassins I have seen.”

“I suppose that is encouraging. But what of my worth as a warrior to fight with you?” Michael asked. “What is your judgment?”

“… My judgment is reserved until I can see what you can really do…” Damian drawled, walking off of the mats. “But the potential is there. You hold promise as an ally.”

Michael nodded, finally stumbling to his feet. “A true compliment, coming from you. Thank you.”

“Tch... whatever. Let’s get upstairs before we’re—“

“Caught?” Bruce asked, and the pair whirled. “Too late.” Michael had a wide eyed look, Damian just sighed. “Damian… you KNOW what Leslie told him about restrictions.”

“Tch…” Was the response from his son.

“And Michael—“

“Do you have ANY idea how crazy I’ve been?!” Michael whined. “I feel like I’m going to literally crawl out of my own skin!”

“Hit the showers and get to bed. Both of you.” Bruce ordered.

“But it’s almost time to go out—“

“Not tonight, Damian.” Bruce said, firmly. 

“… You’re GROUNDING me?!” Damian blurted, astonished.

“Yes.” Bruce said, then turned and stalked out of the room.

“Fine with me. I could USE some company.” Michael snickered and Damian glared at him, but then slowly allowed a smirk to cross his face.

“You have no intention of going to bed, do you?”

“Not unless YOU punk out.” Michael challenged. Damian grinned.

“As if.” 

And the pair faced each other and took up a fighting stance again.


	9. Training

When Bruce saw Michael and Damian the next morning he just sighed, rubbed a hand over his face and did an about-face, walking away. When Dr. Thompkins came in to check up on Michael, she nearly hit the ceiling. He was COVERED in bruises, but all he did was smile and shrug. Dr. Thompkins then went off on Damian, who was standing in the doorway, nearly as bruised up as Michael.

Bruce made himself scarce for the visit, not wanting her to blame him for the antics of the two boys, and he was forced to endure Dick’s teasing for it.

Tim returned that afternoon, sporting his own fresh injuries inflicted while with the Teen Titans and proclaiming that he would be taking a couple of nights off.

“Good.” Bruce told him. “Work with Michael. I want to see how much he’s absorbed, and get your opinion on him.” Michael quirked a brow and looked at Tim, who had just nodded. And right after dinner they all headed down to the cave. Dick, Damian and Bruce suited up and headed out, while Tim and Michael sat down at the massive super computer.

“It’s been nearly two months since I gave you that tablet. What do you think?” Tim asked, logging into the system.

“It’s… a LOT of information.” Michael said, drawing his feet up onto the chair and crossing his ankles, leaning forward and bracing his elbows on his knees.

“It is.” Tim nodded. “List the Organized Crime families and show me where they operate.” 

And he handed Michael a tablet. Michael began to trace his finger over a map of Gotham, circling areas and reciting as he worked, “The Russians are the Dimitrov Family, the head is Yuri Dimitrov. Drago Ibanescu is the head of the Romanian mob out here on the East Side. The Odessa Mob from the Ukraine is run by Alexandra Kosov. Peyton Riley is in charge of the Irish. The Yakuza lost most of their power and presence in the Gang Wars.” Tim nodded, confirming this. “The Maroni, Sabatino and Falcones are all Italian, and the Sicilians are made up of several families, and have had leadership passed around through several of them. The Galantes are currently in charge. The others are the Berettis, what’s left of the Bertinellis, the Cassamentos, the Inserillos and the Panessas.”

“Good.” Tim nodded. “Now show me the gangs.”

“The Lucky Hand Triad is a branch of the Chinese Triad, and the Ghost Dragons are from Hong Kong. The Hanoi Ten are rivals of the Ghost Dragons. The Escabedo Cartel is one of the largest and most dangerous of the gangs, and could almost be considered a Mob Family. The Bloods and the Crips have a presence in Gotham, the Sprang Bridge Soldiers are here in Robbinsville, the Lo Boyz are Latino, their rivals are the Street Demonz.” Michael recited, circling each gang’s area of operation. “The Penguin’s Gang, the False-Facers under Black Mask, the Latina Unified Gang, not affiliated with the Lo Boyz, and Intergang. And those are the major gangs. The minor gangs also seem to be the oldest, the Italian East Siders, the Free Men Gang, the Jewish Sons of David, the Irish Wound Ravens, the Five Fingers and the All-Americans.”

“Good.” Tim nodded. “Penguin’s base of operations?”

“The Iceberg Hotel & Casino.” Michael answered. “… Why do you LET him?”

“Because… we know where to find him. And it’s easier to keep an eye on him.” Tim explained. 

“Oh…” Michael nodded in his understanding.

“Identify these.” Tim said then, and a face flashed up on the super computer’s screen.

“Arnold Wesker, the Ventriloquist. Dissociative Identity Disorder that he projects onto the puppet, Scarface.”

“Good.” Tim said, and a new picture popped up.

“Edward Nigma, the Riddler. He’s a genius, but he’s Obsessive Compulsive with an ego the size of Texas.”

Tim chuckled. “That’s one way of putting it.”

Michael smiled, looking up at the next picture. “… That’s Bane.”

“And what do you know about him?”

“… No touchy?” Michael offered.

Tim smiled slightly. “Probably a good thing to do, for now.”

“He’s a genius, speaks several languages and has superhuman strength and speed, thanks to the Venom.”

“Yes.”

“… Did he… really…?”

“Break Bruce’s spine over his knee?” Tim asked. “… Yes.”

“Damn…”

“Yeah.”

“… No touchy.” Michael said again.

“No touchy.” Tim confirmed with a nod, and switched the pictures again.

“Pamela Isley, Poison Ivy. A solitary Eco-terrorist. She’s immune to toxins and poisons and actually creates her own within her own biology. She can manipulate pheromones to control men, can kill with a kiss. She also has an ability to animate and manipulate plants.”

“Another no touchy.” Tim said. “It’s not just her kiss that can kill… her very touch can be poisonous.”

“Okay,” Michael nodded as Tim switched to a new picture. “… That’s the Joker. He’s… the ultimate psychopath. And his girlfriend has GOT to be beyond crazy to like him.”

“Harley is… interesting, to say the least.” Tim nodded, flipping pictures.

“Dr. Jonathan Crane, the Scarecrow. A sadistic psychopath obsessed with fear. He gets off on people’s fear, especially if he caused it. He has formulated numerous fear toxins, and sometimes wields a scythe…”

“Yes.” Tim nodded.

“That’s Oswald Cobblepot, the Penguin. He runs a large criminal organization, disguising his activities behind his legal business in the Iceberg Hotel & Casino.”

“Easily intimidated, a good source of information when we need it.” Tim smirked, leaning back and propping his feet up on the base of the computer console, crossing his ankles.

This testing session continued for a couple of hours. Tim quizzed Michael on their allies, making sure that he would know them on sight, make sure he knew who the known crooked cops were, the criminals both major and minor that they encountered the most, important sites in Gotham like the banks, museums, large jewelers, police precincts and Wayne owned properties, and where they had established safe houses, bases and bunkers set up through the cities. He reviewed maps of the streets, sewers and subway tunnels, train lines, shipping lanes in and out of Gotham harbor, and what was IN the harbor. They went over the blue prints of Blackgate Island Prison and Arkham Asylum, and then even quizzed him on criminal law. It was past 2 am when they finally retired for the night, and for the first time, Michael slept until lunch.

“How did it go?” Bruce asked Tim as they ate.

“Good.” Tim nodded, eating his BLT. “Michael has picked up on everything important you would want him to know to get started, and more. Just a tip of the iceberg, but…”

“A lot of it will have to be learned in the field.” Bruce nodded.

“And when will that be?” Michael pounced on the subject immediately.

“When I feel you’re ready.” Bruce told him. “But for now… we can start evaluating you in other areas.”

“Such as?” Michael asked.

“You’ll see after lunch.”

And right after lunch, Michael followed the others down into the Cave. Bruce led him over to what appeared to be a shooting gallery. “Let’s see what you can do.” He said, and laid out not a gun but small, bat shaped shuriken. Michael nodded, scooping up a trio and testing their weight in his fingers and then flinging them down the length of the gallery, one after the other. All three found their marks one of the targets.

“Again.” Bruce said. Michael picked up another trio, this time settling them between his fingers and throwing them all at once. And as before, they all hit their target, this particular trio landing in a neat line.

“Left hand.” Bruce commanded and Michael obeyed, repeating the move of throwing three at once with his left hand. And once again, he hit the target, dead on.

“That would be a fail. On every throw.” Bruce said, his tone hard. Michael looked up at him, startled. “Do you know why?” Michael just looked confused. 

“Tim?” Bruce asked. Tim took up several of the little weapons and threw them at the fourth and fifth targets. “Good. Those are perfect. Do you understand why?” Michael frowned, shaking his head. “Look at WHERE you hit them. Compared with where Tim hit them.”

Michael studied them for a few moments, frowning, but then his eyes widened. “His hit their marks in places to wound and disable… Mine… struck to kill…”

“Your aim is dead on.” Bruce nodded. “Jugular, femoral, iliac veins… the carotid artery… The victim would bleed out in minutes.” He looked down at Michael. “Your aim is perfect. You just need to change your target.”

“I understand.” Michael nodded.

“And you need to do it on reflex. The same with everything you do. You cannot strike to kill. Ever. You need to strike to disable, but NEVER to possibly kill. And you need to do that naturally. With your training, it is your immediate instinct and reflex to throw a potentially deadly strike. You must unlearn this.”

“Yessir…” Michael nodded again.

“Good. We start now…” Bruce said, turning and leading Michael further into the depths of the cave.

The next few weeks leading out of June and well into July flew by in a whirl of constant learning, training, drilling… and pain. It was mind numbing and invigorating all at once. Michael’s every waking hour was spent with the others, doing something… anything… 

Mornings were often spent with Tim or Dick. One day, Michael would be out in the garage with Dick, learning how to work on the cars and motorcycles with the understanding that once he got his own vehicle, the majority of the tasks of keeping it well maintained would fall to him. The next day he would be in the lab with Tim, hunched over a microscope and other equipment as he learned of various toxins and chemicals. Then it would be a morning with Tim and Dick, watching hours of videos of interrogations and learning to read the subject, noting every subtle nuance of behavior, be it a twitch of the eye, the slight tensing of the body, a glance, a barely noticeable change in tone of voice, even the sight of the slight flutter on the throat where the jugular sat, showing an increase in heart rate… 

He learned to read lips with complete accuracy, and one morning it was literally settling down into a crouch on the edge of the desk, and then holding that pose for hours, not moving a muscle. It was excruciating, made even more torturous by the fact that Tim and Dick sat there across the room talking the whole time, and frequently mentioning how Michael had to be going out of his mind, sitting still for so long, before launching into another random conversation. And then, when Michael was finally allowed to move, they caught him off guard and asked him to tell them what their random conversations had been about. They were quite taken aback when Michael was able to accurately summarize the conversations, doing so with a sharp tongue, colorful wording and venomous glare.

Occasionally, Tim and Dick would be indisposed. On those mornings Michael would find himself with Damian, who took it upon himself to train this newcomer as well. Michael found himself feeling much less focused with Damian. It wasn’t that he was not absorbing what Damian had to teach him, but that it felt less formal with him for some reason. While there was much that Damian could teach him, Michael found that they both seemed to have fun doing it. It was almost approached as a game. The more time he spent with Damian, the more relaxed Damian seemed to become. Perhaps it was because they were closer in age, and both had similar training in their background, but Michael wondered if perhaps Damian often felt that he had to prove himself around Tim, Dick and his imposing father, and yet did not around Michael. 

The pair would spend their time in the gym, sparring and teaching each other techniques that the other did not know, or sometimes engaging in a hybrid of Tag and Hide-n-Seek out on the grounds of the Wayne Estate, chasing each other through the trees (after Alfred had thrown them out of the house and forbade them from playing their game inside of stately Wayne Manor).

Twice, Michael spent the morning with Alfred. He was startled at the skill the old man showed in acting, and submitted to Alfred’s teachings in the art of becoming someone else. Alfred taught him ways to disguise himself through voice and accent, movement and subtle body language, and began to tutor him in the use of stage makeup and prosthetics to change his physical appearance, explaining to him that all of the members of the Bat Clan had undercover identities that they used, such as Bruce’s “Matches” Malone and Tim Drake’s Alvin Draper.

After lunch, Michael’s tutelage was dominated by Bruce himself…

The hours he spent in the cave with the man were grueling. The lightheartedness that normally filled his morning lessons did not continue into the afternoon training. Tim, Dick and Damian frequently assisted but they were all business, and they all immediately became impossibly strict task masters once Bruce was heading things up. Michael’s training on the compound growing up had been intense, extreme, but his training in the Bat Cave took it to new levels. He was brought back into top form, and then beyond. He could feel himself moving to new heights he had never reached, and then to points he never thought he would, or even could, achieve.

He was pushed into exhaustion in everything; hand to hand combat, weapons training with escrima, kama, sword and bo, hours spent with shuriken and learning to use the batarangs, not just in the throwing, but in the catching of them as well. He trained with the bow and arrow and countless different firearms, being told time and again that just because they did not use guns, it didn’t mean they could get by not knowing about them. He was drilled in their use until he could disassemble, assemble, load and ready them for use… blindfolded. And then had to face them as the intended target. It was a painful lesson, learning to read a shooter and dodge rubber bullets, and then he was drilled in dodging, and catching, other projectiles such as arrows, knives and shuriken, not learning to do so, but improving on his already acquired skill. He went through varying obstacle courses, and with the futuristic technology of the Cave, no run was the same. The obstacles changed frequently and sometimes at the last second; to be caught off guard was to fail, and failure was not an option.

He went through simulations in an area that could change its environment to appear as numerous different city street corners, with advanced androids walking about as civilians and criminals both, and he had to move through this environment to take down his targets with harming, or allowing the targets to harm, the civilians.

He lifted weights, stretched, trained in gymnastics and acrobatics, pushing himself to what had to be his limits and then beyond, in strength, speed, stamina, flexibility and adaptability. He learned to be smart, to think on his feet and to never, ever hesitate. He did so in extreme heat and cold, in smothering darkness and blinding lights, moving through the caverns at dizzying heights, down to the depths of the underground river that cut through the bowels of the system of caves, which of course, involved learning how to swim… Surprisingly, this was probably the most difficult task, as it became clear all too soon that Michael did NOT like water, and on his first dive into the cave rivers Bruce finally caught a flash of genuine fear in the teenager’s eyes. He took Michael much further into the black waters than originally planned. Michael wasn’t the strongest swimmer, and he did not like the dark waters in the cave, but it wasn’t long before he was swimming laps in the pool up to three miles long without stopping.

Over and over again he was pushed to the point of exhaustion, his body giving in and collapsing. And he would then be told that he was at the point where it was determined if he was good enough to fight with them… With Batman, Robin, Nightwing and Red Robin. And proving the power of mind over matter, he would force his body up again, and keep going. He was hurt. He bruised, he bled, he was physically sick, he cried, he screamed and he kept going, spitting blood and bile out of his mouth, setting his jaw and refusing to give up. Twice he fell, his mind screaming at him to take it like a man, get up and keep going, only to wake in the cave’s hospital bed, getting IV fluids and an approving nod from Bruce… who would then get verbally ripped apart by Dr. Thompkins.

But then, the day finally came when it was all worth it. It was the first morning when he didn’t have any lessons with the others. He went out for a jog in the morning, and when he came back he found Damian on the front steps, waiting for him.

“Come on.” Damian said and Michael blinked, but tucked his iPod into his pocket and followed. The pair headed down the stairs into the cave, and voices echoed up the tunnel from below. When they reached the bottom and stepped into the Bat Cave, the voices stopped. Bruce, Dick and Tim all turned. Dick was grinning in a contagious excitement; Tim, who had been trying to keep a straight face, was unable to hold back a smile. Even Bruce allowed the corners of his mouth to quirk up in the shadow of a smile.

“Tch… you look like a bunch of fools.” Damian snorted, but even he had a smirk on his face as he walked over to a tall, thin something covered in a sheet behind the three men. He seized the fabric and whipped it away, and Michael’s heart nearly stopped in his chest.

It was a uniform. His new uniform.

The suit was red, and in the style of the others, left only the head uncovered. A field of black was splashed across the chest, inspired by the red bird shape on Nightwing’s chest, slanting upwards following the line of the tops of his pectoral muscles and then cutting sharply downwards towards the armpit. The lines between the black and the red on his lower chest and abdomen followed the same path, slanting up and out from the bottom of the solar plexus onto the pectorals, before cutting a path downwards at a right angle, and then straightening directly downwards over the oblique muscles. The red covered the abdomen, and the black covered the sides, hips and the outside of the thighs before abruptly ending just above the knees. The rest of the legs remained red, disappearing into the black ninja style boots that were topped with armored knee guards, lined in gold. Two gold straps wrapped around the calves over the boots, and a large, plated metal band sat snuggly on the right thigh, while two narrow black leather straps with gold buckles wrapped around the left thigh. A matching pair of bands were buckled around each bicep. 

The red sleeves ended in simple red gloves that encased the hands, but the forearms were covered in gauntlets that were a specially adapted hybrid of those worn by the League, and those worn by the Bat Clan. Michael knew immediately that the gauntlets and the subtle black pauldrons on the shoulders were Damian’s contributions. They were black, each plate lined and bolted in place with gold, and each of the three panels on the gauntlets had gold spikes welded onto them, like those that ran up the outside of the arms on Batman’s gloves. The belt was different from anything that the others wore. It was four layers of bands spanning the entire distance of his waist, from the bottom of his ribcage all the way down to his hips. All of this was topped off with a long, scalloped cape. It was black on the outside and red on the inside, like Red Robin’s, but, like Damian, had a black hood with a thick, red stripe running up the center.

Lastly, finalizing the entire ensemble, was a red and black mask. It followed the design of Red Robin and Nightwing, with a domino mask base but with wings on the end. They were more dramatic on this mask, the tops of the wings reaching up in a subtle manner like Nightwing’s, but the bottoms reaching all the way down the face and almost to the jawline. The center piece stretching from the brow down the nose was black and the wings were mostly red, with the exception being the area under the eyes, which was black and followed the lines of the bottom of the eye lenses, down to the bottom of the wings and then inwards too, meeting in the center at the nose.

Finally, Michael allowed his eyes to settle on the center of the chest. A crimson bird with scalloped wings was emblazoned on the black. Michael furrowed his brow and turned, looking up at Dick. His eyes asked the question. Dick just smiled, and answered.

“… Cardinal.”

Michael blinked, and then smiled. He recalled that small conversation over a month ago, where Dick had casually told Bruce and Tim at the dinner table that he had found Michael on the back terrace, and then said “He likes cardinals.” Dick, Tim and Bruce had exchanged meaningful looks that had confused Michael at the time, and then Bruce had simply said “Dick, you take this project” and then promptly brought up a new conversation.

“It’s amazing.”

“And it’s yours.” Bruce said. “Get changed. Now you have to get used to doing everything while wearing its armor, instead of your t-shirts.”

“Yessir.” Michael nodded, almost breathless in his excitement. Putting on the uniform for the first time felt surreal. Michael could hardly believe that it was happening. The uniform was heavy. It was an interesting design that kept it well armored, but still light enough to allow Michael to move with the speed and agility he would need to have. His mind whirled at what might be concealed within the utility belt and other concealed pockets over the costume.

When he finally emerged, sliding the gauntlets into place, Bruce nodded.

“Good job, boys.” He said, glancing at Dick, Tim and Damian. “It looks good. Fits him well, and Damian, I think you were spot on with those adjustments.”

“Of course I was,” Damian snorted. 

“Michael. For the next week, you will be going through a review of all the training you have undergone over the past month, but wearing that so you can familiarize yourself with its weight and feel.” Michael nodded in understanding. “Mask on, and let’s get started.”

Over the next week Michael’s teachers did not hold back, but neither did Michael. He was in the home stretch, finally close to reaching his goals. He was ready to get out into the world to fight for something worth fighting for, to honor his family and to make a point to the League; he was NOT one of them, and never would be. He pushed himself to be as perfect as he could be. The work was harder with the new uniform on but he found himself in less pain, thanks to the armored protection it afforded him. And he took more than a swell of satisfaction with every nod of approval from Bruce and the others… He allowed himself to feel pride; he had the approval of the Batman…

And finally… 

FINALLY… he got the words he wanted to hear.

“You’re ready.”


	10. Angelo

Michael soon learned that when Batman told him that he was ready, it wasn’t just in regards to taking on the identity that Nightwing had chosen for him, Cardinal. It meant he was ready to get started on everything, and that meant beginning to establish himself in his civilian identity as well. The very next day, Dick Grayson took him into Gotham to get everything legally finalized in regards to being Michael’s legal Guardian. And when they did, Michael got a big surprise… When they arrived at the courthouse, they were met by a red haired woman in glasses who, to Michael’s surprise, walked up and gave Dick a quick kiss on the lips.

“Here’s all the paperwork I’ve put together.” She said, handing him a file. “His Birth Certificate, Social Security Card, you name it, it’s there. Had to use some major operatives to get those, but I got them.”

“I knew you would.” Dick grinned, then turned. “Babs, this is Michael.” She smiled and took Michael’s hand, looking him over with his loose hanging jeans, a Ninja Turtles t-shirt and black converse, long hair tightly braided down his back.

“Good to finally meet you in person, Michael.” She said, her voice warm. “I’m Barbara Gordon.” Michael’s eyes widened.

“… You’re Oracle.” He gasped. “And—“

“Shh…” She hushed him, but winked. He smiled at that. “You know me?”

“We all did. We all learned a bit of hacking, and all hackers know YOU.”

“So my reputation precedes me.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Michael nodded firmly, a slight Texas twang coming out in that moment, which made Dick and Barbara grin.

“All you have to do is sign some paperwork and it’s all official.” Barbara said then, leading them down the crowded corridor. “And then, at ten, Michael has his placement exam.”

“… Sorry. My what?” Michael asked.

“You’re signed up to enter Gotham Heights High School.” Dick said. “But coming from being home schooled, you have to take their placement exam to determine what grade you’ll be in and what classes you will need to take.”

“I guess there’s no point in asking if I can just keep being home schooled?”

“Nope,” Dick and Barbara announced in unison. Michael heaved a sigh of resignation, and before he knew it he was standing before the imposing, but nicely maintained, Gotham Heights High School. “We’ll pick you up afterwards and go to lunch.” Dick told him, and Michael turned and stared in dread as Dick drove away, Barbara beside him.

“… Great.” He mumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets and stalking towards the school. As he pushed through the front doors, a middle aged woman smiled at him from a table set up in the main hall.

“Good morning.” She smiled. “Here for the assessment testing?”

“I guess…”

“Last name?”

“D’Ambrosio.”

“Michael?”

“Yeah…” Michael sighed, and she grinned at how reluctant he sounded. 

“Down this hall, room 119. It’s on the right.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Michael grumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets and shuffling down the hall. He found room 119 with no problem; it was the only room with a door open, lights on and people inside. There were about a dozen and a half other kids inside and one adult.

“Last name?” She asked.

“… D’Ambrosio.” Michael mumbled. She nodded and handed him a pencil. “Seat eleven, please.” Michael stared at the pencil then sighed and rolled his eyes, making his way to the desk, plopping into the seat. The last couple of stragglers came in and were seated and the teacher began to hand out test booklets and the answer sheets, droning on about the instructions, and finally, they were told to begin.

________________________________________

“Well… HE looks cheerful…” Barbara Gordon drawled as Michael emerged from the school building, clutching a piece of paper in his hands.

“What’s that you got there?” Dick asked as the teenager threw himself into the back seat. 

“Some… new student orientation they want me to go to.” Michael snorted. “I’m hungry.”

“Here.” Dick said, reaching back and plucking the flier from Michael’s fingers. “In two weeks, hm? Okay…”

“I don’t want to go.”

“You’re going.” Dick chuckled, sharing a glance with Barbara. “You can meet some classmates.”

“But it’s gonna be all Freshmen!” Michael complained.

“Not all. It’s for new transfers, too. And the new seniors are in charge, so you’ll meet some of them.” Barbara pointed out.

“… Whatever.”

“Aw… he actually sounds like a normal teenager.” Dick laughed, and Barbara grinned as they pulled out into the street. “What do you want for lunch, Michael?”

“I don’t care…” Michael grumbled, fastening his seat belt and staring out the window, making a double take at a couple of teenaged girls in very short shorts who had also been taking the test… they had tugged off their t-shirts and were in bikini tops underneath. Michael just stared at they drove by, making Dick and Barbara fight to keep from laughing.

“Thinking that maybe high school won’t be so bad?” Dick asked. Michael flushed for a moment when he realized he’d been caught, but then gave a devilish grin and shot back “Depends on the dress code!”

“Ah, to be young again…” Dick sighed wistfully as Barbara laughed, saying “as if you’re that old!”

“Oh, my back!” Dick whined dramatically, and Barbara rolled her eyes.

“So, now that the kid is officially in, are we allowed back in the cave?”

“I dunno…” Dick shrugged. “Depends on whether or not Bruce took down the ‘No Girls Allowed’ sign…”

“Ha ha.” Barbara drawled as Dick pulled into a burger place.

________________________________________

When they arrived home after dropping Barbara off, they found everyone down in the cave.

“What’s going on?” Dick asked.

“Tim’s snitch got him some information…” Bruce said from where he was standing behind Tim, staring over his shoulder as he watched the younger man work.

“Something big is going down with the Falcone organization.” Tim said, glancing back over his shoulder. “Killa’ Nilla heard it may involve what’s left of the Yakuza. Probably running them out of town for good…”

“Either way, it could potentially spark another gang war if we can’t keep it under control.” Bruce said.

“The problem,” Damian announced from where he was doing one handed pushups on the floor, “is that we’re not able to get an ear into the restaurant where the Falcone organization is meeting. They’re taking every precaution. No electronics. They’re actually setting up a scrambler. And shutting off power for the meeting. Candlelight, heavily guarded… they’re not even speaking of the meeting over the phone. Word of mouth, man to man word only, we don’t even know when the meeting is happening.”

“What we need…” Tim said slowly, “is someone in the restaurant when it goes down.”

“… Apply for the job.” Michael said.

“Huh?” Tim asked, turning and looking at him.

“That’s the restaurant? The Wine Cellar?”

“Yeah.” Tim nodded, and Michael pointed at the image on the screen. 

“In the window. Hiring Wait Staff.”

“Won’t work.” Bruce said. “They only hire other Italians. And the meeting will be in Italian. We’ll need someone fluent.”

“And I can get by pretty well, but I’m not that fluent.” Tim sighed. 

Michael looked around, and then grinned. “Beh, io sono. Inviami dentro!”

They all turned and stared, Damian pausing halfway through a pushup.

“… You know Italian?” Bruce asked.

Michael grinned again. “Naturalmente faccio, mio padre era da Roma, ricordi? Mi ha insegnato quando ero piccola. Sono fluente. Sono anche mezzo italiano e ho i tratti del viso da mostrare per esso. Lasciami andare dentro.”

“… What did he say?” Damian asked, now looking amused.

“He said that thanks to his Italian father he’s fluent in the language, and has features reminiscent of the Romans. He wants to go in.” Bruce translated, a smirk on his face.

“You sure he’s ready?” Dick asked.

“… No time like the present to find out.” Bruce nodded. “Call Oracle, we need to get a background ready for an undercover ID for him.” And then he nodded to Michael. “In this, your combat skills will be useless. You need to focus on blending in. Keeping your cover. Gathering intel without being noticed, and you need to have the mind to remember things, when you won't be able to record them any other way. You'll have to be aware, and be ready for any opportunities to twist to your advantage, without being suspicious. One wrong move and you end up face down in the harbor. Even we may not be able to get to you in time. Do you understand me?" Michael's eyes widened slightly, but he nodded, swallowing thickly before giving a low "yessir."

Bruce nodded again. "Lo vuoi, ce l'hai. And maybe you can help the others with their Italian. Do you know any other languages?”

“Watashinohaha wa watashi ga Nihon no oshiete kureta.” Michael said in Japanese, and then switched to another language, “E eu sei um pouco de Português.”

“Nǐ zhīdào zhōngguó rén ma?” Asked Damian in Chinese, grinning in delight, and Michael nodded.

“Wǒ bù liúlì, dàn wǒ kěyǐ tōngguò.”

“¿Habla español?” Dick asked, and Michael nodded again.

“Wie wäre es mit Deutsch?” Tim asked, and Michael said “A little.”

“Parlez-vous français?” Bruce asked.

“I don’t care for French and German.” Michael confessed. “And I don’t know much of them, but I can get around if needed. Spanish is easier because it’s closer to Italian. Tha í̱thela epísi̱s na gno̱rízoun elli̱niká .”

“What was that?” Dick asked.

“Greek.” Bruce answered. “Any Arabic?”

“A little.” Michael nodded.

“That’s nearly a dozen languages.” Tim said, looking impressed.

“We had a lot of people from different backgrounds on the compound. We all were multi-lingual because of it. But I’m only fluent in English and Italian. Nearly fluent in Japanese, Spanish and Portuguese. I can get by in Greek, Arabic and Chinese, and I only know a little French and German.”

“Good. Less that you need to learn.” Bruce said. 

“And I know curse words in Russian.”

“… We’ll work on that. Let’s get you set up with a new ID.”

________________________________________

Michael’s new identity was ready within two days. As he sat in the back seat, allowing Tim to drive him to the area, he recited it for Tim.

“My name is Angelo Cipriani. My birthday is June fifteenth, I’m a sophomore at East Gotham High School and I play soccer. Just moved here from Dallas. My father, Dante, was a low level killed in a drive by shooting. My mother, Claudia, moved us to Gotham for a fresh start. She got a job in the mail room with Wayne Enterprises in the day and waitresses at a diner at night. She never knew that I was a package boy, but I might be interested in making a bit of extra cash on the side.”

“Good.” Tim nodded.

“And I offer bonus services… I charge twenty for hand, fifty for oral and an even hundred for the whole package.” Michael added, eyeing some provocatively dressed women on the street corner as they drove by. "Nice neighborhood you're ditching me in."

Tim sat in silent shock for a moment, and then both of them burst into laughter. Tim pulled over, letting his forehead thump down onto the steering wheel as he wheezed “Oh God… PLEASE don’t say that… ever… EVER again… Oh my God, I can’t breathe! How the HELL did you keep a straight face?!” Michael just grinned. “Oh God… Just… just go!” Tim continued to laugh, waving his hand as Michael gathered up his false ID and papers. “And… be CAREFUL.”

“Oh, fine. Take all the fun out of it.” Michael snickered, grinning at how Tim was wiping away tears of mirth.

“God, that was funny…” Tim gasped as Michael got out of the car. “Got your phone?”

“Yup!”

“You remember the address of the apartment?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Here’s the key. She’s the friend of a friend, just moved into that apartment. She has a son, he’s with his father for the summer. She doesn’t know who you are or what is going down, all she knows is that she’s playing your mother if needed, and providing you with the appearances of a home. She knows you as Angelo, that’s it.”

“What friend?”

“Selina Kyle.”

“… Catwoman?”

“Yes.” Tim nodded. “I’ll leave a tablet for you there to keep in touch with us. You can access the Batcomputer’s communications and data base so you can ID any players.”

“Alright.” Michael nodded.

“Okay. Call when you’re ready for extraction!”

“Extraction? Good God, it’s just a job interview.” Michael joked and Tim grinned and waved, driving away. Michael watched him go, then sighed and turned, slinging on his backpack. This was it. His first time alone on the streets of Gotham, and he wasn’t in costume. 

He took a deep breath, smelling the Italian food from the restaurants in the area, the garbage in the alleys and the smell of oil, exhaust and gas from the cars. As he passed a bar, he could smell beer and stale urine coming from the dark alley. Ahhh… the smells of the city. He turned a corner and headed down the street, his eyes on the restaurant that, sure enough, still had a sign in the window. He glanced at his reflection in the window of a deli as he passed, checking how he looked. He was wearing a pair of fitted black jeans, the black ankle boots and a dark red button up shirt over a white tank top. The shirt’s top few buttons were undone, showing the top of the tank, and the gold St. Michael medal on his chest, distinctly Roman Catholic. He trotted across the street to the Wine Cellar, and stepped inside.

The place was small and intimate, and smelled delicious. It was dimly lit with candles stuck in old wine bottles on the tables, wax drippings coating the sides. The table cloths were classic red and white checkered and the walls were painted with murals of Tuscan vineyards.

“Can I help you?” A young man in his mid twenties asked, walking out of the kitchen. Michael identified the accent as New York Italian. He smiled and offered his hand, allowing some of his father’s Italian accent to come out as he said “Hi. I’m here about the job?” And he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at the sign in the window. “Can I fill out an application?”

“Oh.” The man said, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “You uh… you new to Gotham?”

“Yeah.” Michael nodded. “Came from Dallas.”

“Alright… well, let me get the boss.” The man said, waving to a table off in the corner. “Have a seat.” Michael nodded and headed over to the secluded corner, trying to calm his pounding heart. He didn’t sit but looked over the old photos on the wall, making note of all the faces he recognized as members of the Falcone organization.

He noted in the reflection of the glass the approach of a man, but he didn’t turn until the man cleared his throat. Michael held a straight face as he recognized the nephew of Carmine Falcone, Silvio. Michael was surprised that someone so high up on the chain of command would be interviewing for a lowly waiter, but then again, if the waiter was going to be hearing sensitive information… 

Michael smiled and offered his hand. “Hi.” He greeted. “Angelo Cipriani.” Silvio eyed him as he accepted the handshake, noting the callousing on Michael’s hand.

“Silvio Falcone…” He said, now looking at Michael’s hand, “You know hard work, Angelo.” Michael’s eyes widened in surprise. He would have to watch himself with this one…

“Gotta do what I can to help make ends meet.” He shrugged and Silvio smiled, waving to the chair at the table and taking a seat on the other side. Michael sat down facing Silvio, who snapped his fingers. The man from earlier hurried over.

“Get me some of the Merlot from that crate we just opened last night.” He commanded, and then looked at Michael.

“Oh, um, just an ice water, thanks.”

“You sure?” Silvio asked. “It’s an excellent vintage.”

“Oh, no thank you, I uh… I’m under age.”

“You’re Italian, aren’t you?” Silvio laughed. “Surely you’re learning your wines, even at this age?”

Michael blinked a few times, then smirked. “I prefer Pinot Noir. But I’ll stick with water, for now.” 

Silvio chuckled, waving away the other man and saying “Ah… Pinot Noir for the young, developing palate. You prefer white wines?”

“On occasion. But not much wine is available at home since my father passed last year.”

“Ahh… I’m sorry to hear that.” Silvio sighed, looking genuine. “It’s hard to lose a father.”

“Yessir.” Michael nodded, allowing his own true emotion to show through.

“So I hear you’re new to Gotham City.”

“I am.” Michael confirmed.

“What brought you here?”

“My father’s passing. My mother wanted to get away from the memories and start over.”

“Just you and your mother?”

“Yes.”

“So you’re the man of the house now, eh, Angelo?”

“Yessir.” Michael nodded. “Money is tight. I need to do what I can.”

“That’s a good son.” Silvio nodded in approval, then sighed “Se solo più i ragazzi della tua generazione erano così ...” Michael did not respond, feigning ignorance for now. The other man returned with their drinks and Silvio gently swilled the contents of his glass, inhaling the bouquet before taking a small sip. Michael took a sip of his water, watching Silvio carefully.

“So… did you have a job back in Dallas?”

“Not officially, no.” Michael said. “I would uh, run errands. For my dad’s… friends.”

“His friends, eh?” Silvio asked eyeing the intense look Michael gave him, letting him know that there was more to it. “I see… what kinds of errands?”

“I delivered packages.”

“What kind of packages?”

“Whatever they asked me to. I don’t know what was in them. They weren’t mine to open. My only business was to get them to right place.” Approval shone in Silvio’s eyes.

“Ever been a waiter?”

“No sir. But I’m sure I can handle it.”

“I’m sure you can, Angelo. How old are you?”

“Seventeen.” Michael said, sticking to the story.

“About to start your senior year?”

“Yessir. East Gotham High.” Michael confirmed, and Silvio nodded.

“Must be hard, starting all over in your senior year.”

“I would have been starting all over next year for college, anyway.” Michael stated.

“You plan to head to college?”

“Well… I was considering it, but… with my dad gone…”

“Tough break, kiddo… but who knows? You do a good job, with the right friends and connections…” And he trailed off. Michael eyed him. “Well, I’ll tell ya what… You sound like a good kid, stepping up, taking care of his mother, being a man. I’ll give you shot. See how things work out.” Michael allowed a broad grin to cross his face, letting his true surprise and relief show through. It couldn’t REALLY be that easy, could it?!

“Let’s just have you fill out some paperwork. When can you start?”

“… R-Right away!” Michael stammered.

And after spending the past few weeks training to be a vigilante in Gotham, Michael began training in the food service industry. He and the woman he was temporarily living with worked opposite schedules, so they never saw each other. When they did, she seemed civil enough, though Michael had a feeling that she was no secretary… Hell, he would bet money that she was a prostitute, but he was polite and ignored the way she eyed him like a piece of meat. Once, he overheard her on the phone with Selina Kyle, telling her that he was hot for a kid, and if he wanted to lose ‘The Big V’, she would do it for free. He made himself scarce after that and wondered if Batman was in the habit of sending his protégés undercover to live with sexual predators... Needless to say, compared to the awkward “home life”, working in the restaurant was painfully easy and Silvio proclaimed his training over by the end of the week. 

That Saturday night he wasn’t sure whether to be amused or annoyed when he walked up to one of his tables and found Dick, Barbara, Tim and a young blonde about Tim’s age sitting there; Michael recognized her from the files Tim had given him on allies. She was the Spoiler, and she was giving Michael an appraising look.

“Hello, I’m Angelo and I’ll be taking care of you this evening.” He said, trying SO hard to keep a straight face. While the women were doing fine, Tim and Dick seemed to be having the same problem. “Would you like to see the wine list?”

“Please.” Dick nodded, and Michael passed it over.

“I have a question about the appetizers,” Tim said, and Michael strolled over and leaned down between Tim and the blonde, staring at the menu. “Michael, this is Stephanie. Stephanie, Michael.”

“Hi.”

“Hello.”

“Cardinal, hm?”

“Waiter, apparently.” Michael corrected, straitening as she giggled behind her hand. “Can I get you guys started with anything?”

“Any recommendations?” Stephanie asked.

“Stuffed mushrooms are to die for.” Michael said. “The toasted ravioli is excellent, and the fried calamari is good, too. I recommend the Sampler trio with those three.”

“… Sounds good to me.” Dick nodded. “And waters all around for now.”

“Alright, I’ll get that appetizer in and be right back with your waters.” Michael nodded, slipping away between the next table and another waiter. When he went back to the kitchen Silvio surprised him, catching him by the arm. 

“Those four at that table…” He said, his tone low. Michael tensed. “That kid is Timothy Drake-Wayne. He’s Bruce Wayne’s adopted son, and CEO of Wayne Enterprises.” He told Michael. “The other fellow is Mr. Grayson, also adopted son of Wayne, and that woman is the daughter of the Police Commissioner. Take good care of them, sell up the wines, but watch your step with the cop’s daughter.”

“Oh… Um, okay. Yessir.”

“I mean it. We could make $300 offa them easy, if you play it right. And good tips for you, eh?”

“Yes sir!” Michael nodded, now grinning. 

“Atta boy.” Silvio chuckled, slapping Michael on the back and walking away.

Michael put in the ticket for the appetizer, then headed back to the table with waters. As he set them down, he mumbled “whoever it was who set me up to live with this woman, I will KILL them.” Dick blinked at the words in his ear and looked at Michael, confused. As Michael set down Barbara’s water, he hissed “If she molests me in my sleep, I swear to God…” The table chuckled at that, and he glared.

“Selina mentioned that her friend found you, uh…” Dick slowly trailed off.

“… Tempting?” Tim offered, and Dick grinned. Michael glared at them both.

“I’ll kill them slowly and painfully…”

“We’ll have a word with Selina, she’ll set her friend straight.” Dick assured Michael.

“Any more news?” Michael asked softly, then said in a louder tone “Know what you’d like to have?”

Tim cleared his throat then, glancing back over Michael’s shoulder. Michael tensed, knowing that someone was behind him, possibly listening in.

“I see the Tuesday special is a stuffed salmon. Do you have that every day, or just Tuesday?” Michael blinked at Tim’s question, then leaned over and glanced at the menu.

“Tuesday?”

“Yeah.” Tim said. 

“Oh, yes, we have that daily. It’s just a discounted price on Tuesdays.”

“Alright. I’ll have the stuffed salmon, then.” Tim announced, calmly. Michael scribbled his order down and looked at Stephanie. She ordered the frutti di mare, and Barbara ordered the shrimp primavera.

“Are you folks doing alright?” Silvio asked, appearing at Michael’s elbow. They all smiled pleasantly.

“We are, thank you.” Barbara said.

“I was about to come get you, actually.” Michael said. “They would like some wine recommendations for their meals, but I’m not all that… learned yet.”

Silvio chuckled and pat Michael on the back, giving the diners a jovial smile and saying “Angelo is new with us.”

“Quite alright, and always good to have the opinion on the master when selecting a wine.” Dick said, and Michael fought back a snigger.

“Well, what are you having?” Silvio asked, sneaking a peak at Michael’s notepad.

“I was just getting to the gentleman.” Michael said.

“I’ll have the filet mignon and lobster tail.” Dick ordered, looking Michael straight in the eye and tapping the menu… right over the price listing. Michael nodded, writing it down and dutifully asking “How would you like that done?”

“Medium rare, please.” Dick said, handing Michael his menu, as did the others.

“Put their orders in and I will discuss their wine choices.” Silvio said kindly and Michael scuttled off to the kitchens, flipping open the menu and looking down at the price of Dick’s dish. It was thirty dollars. Michael glanced at the calendar as he passed it. Sure enough, that upcoming Tuesday was the 30th. Michael grinned triumphantly at having received the message right under Silvio’s nose. He put in the order and then went to check on his other tables, watching Silvio schmooze with his friends. He rolled his eyes as he walked by, hearing Silvio saying “we like to do what we can to help out the neighborhood! His family is in a rough place and he needed the job, of course I gave it to him! I’m pleased to hear his performance is satisfactory, so help me help him, and don’t forget to tip what he’s earned! I’ll go and get those wines for you.”

When he walked away Michael delivered their appetizer, tolerating their grins and snickers.

“Nice boss you have.” Stephanie teased. 

“Mr. Silvio is a very generous boss.” Michael said innocently, making the others grin.

“You holding up okay?” Barbara asked.

“Yeah. I’m fine.” Michael said. “As long as you’re not asking about my home life.” And the table started laughing again.

“Grin and bear it.” Tim told him. “Three more days, if the info was good. YOU need to find that out.”

“Alright.” Michael nodded.

And so, for the next day, he listened. But he had heard nothing by closing on Sunday night. Needless to say, when he came in Monday and was told that the restaurant would be closing early for a business dinner, he nearly groaned. He was sure that this was the meeting. And then came the biggest shock. Silvio told him that he would be sending all the waiters home early… with the exception of his new hire, Angelo. 

“Let’s just say, that if you’re looking for another job to run errands for a bit of cash on the side, these are some people you will want to meet.” And with a pointed look at Michael Silvio went on his way, leaving Michael wondering how the hell he would get word back to the others before the meeting…


	11. Mafia

Michael didn’t realize that everything had felt like a game until suddenly, it didn’t anymore. When Silvio shut off the power and lit all the candles, Michael began to feel the adrenaline. Then Silvio turned on the battery powered Cellular disruptor, rendering all electronics that sent or received some kind of signal, useless… Men began to arrive at the restaurant; richly dressed men with large bodyguards, and Michael could see the guns as he politely took coats to hang on the coat rack. Every mand that walked through the door was thoroughly searched for any wires; Michael himself had been thoroughly searched as well. And then, the murmured conversations went silent and they all faced the front doors as a black limo came to a stop and a man got out. Silvio opened the door and Carmine Falcone walked into the Wine Cellar Restaurant. 

Michael’s heart began to pound and he suddenly realized that this was REAL. He was undercover as a waiter in an Italian restaurant, spying on one of the most dangerous mob families in the city, on behalf of the Batman; he was out of his goddamned mind... He slowly took a deep breath, taking comfort in the presence of the knife strapped to his right ankle, and the shuriken strapped to the left; he had hidden them in the ceiling of the men's room his first night at the restaurant, and had equipped them after he was searched. Then he ran his fingers over the watch on his left wrist. The face could flip up, and reveal a panic button. If he hit that the entire team, Batman, Robin, Nightwing, Batgirl, Batwoman, Red Robin, Spoiler, they would all drop everything and descend on the place immediately to get Michael out… Michael took a deep breath, and reassured himself that the button would NOT be needed. Not like it would WORK with that stupid electronics scrambler device in use…

Silvio pat him on the back and told him to go fill the water glasses, and then he himself went to take his uncle’s coat. Camine Falcone allowed the other men of the organization to fuss over him, and eventually he led the way to the private party room, where Michael was filling the glasses. His eyes fell on Michael and he took a drag at his cigar, then removed it from his lips and exhaled, the acrid smell of the smoke tickling Michael’s throat as it wafted over him. 

Silvio pulled the chair out for his uncle and Carmine sat down, the rest of the men following suit. Michael kept his eyes down, his mouth shut and his ears open as Carmine spoke, “Chi è il ragazzo?”

‘Who is the boy?’ Michael bit back a smirk at the question, and listened as the conversation continued in Italian…

“~Angelo is new to the neighborhood…~” Silvio replied. “~He came from Dallas. Ran packages there.~”

“~For the organization?~”

“~For the Fortunato family; his father was one of them. Died last year in a drive by.~”

“~You checked this out?~” Carmine asked, and Michael tensed.

“~Of course.~” Silvio replied, and Michael had to fight not to let his shock and anxiety show. “~It was the Russians.~”

‘Damn, Oracle is good…’ Michael thought to himself as he silently set a wine glass out before Carmine Falcone, and taking the bottle that Silvio had instructed him to serve to Carmine, he concentrated on properly popping the cork and pouring a tasting portion of the red wine into a glass.

Carmine picked up the glass and swirled it around, before smelling the wine. A moment later, a smirk crossed his face and he sipped, allowing his eyes to fall closed.

“~Ahhh… that one is beautiful. And at the perfect temperature!~” He held his glass up and Michael filled it up to an inch and a half under the rim before moving along to the next man, running each and every one through his mind as he filled their glasses… Alberto and Mario, Carmine’s sons… Carla Vitti, Carmine’s sister and her son, Johnny, and then Carmine’s daughter, Sofia. Then other high ranking members of the mafia… Only a couple of them had the Falcone name, but they were all tied to the Falcone family in some way or another. 

It took three bottles of wine for him to fill everyone’s glass and he was careful to keep his eyes lowered, playing the part of a boy who was nervous and in awe of those in the room. At first he was watched closely, examined, scrutinized, but then the meeting began and he was ignored. Which was exactly what he wanted… what Batman would have wanted. A fly on the wall, insignificant, unnoticed. 

They believed that he did not speak the language… Michael had encouraged that, acting embarrassed and bewildered every time anyone had spoken to him in Italian, not even responding to anyone unless he had heard them address him by name. Silvio had scolded him gently at first, and told him that he would need to pick up the language if he wanted to go anywhere in the neighborhood and Michael had played along with Silvio’s little impromptu lessons of basic Italian.

Michael moved back and forth between the private dining room and the kitchen, bringing in several appetizers to the group. He was careful to set the steamed garlic mussels beside Carmine Falcone, having been instructed to do so by Silvio, as Carmine enjoyed those more than anything else.

The meeting was nothing major at first… just general discussions about “business”. A few names were dropped that Michael recognized, including a dirty cop or two, and then a third that Michael didn’t recognize. He filed the name away to give to Batman, in case Batman didn’t have this cop on record as being dirty.

Then, he heard a name mentioned that immediately piqued his interest; Akio Sanzenin.

“~He arrived from San Francisco two weeks ago.~” One of the lower level men at the table was saying. “~Our sources confirm that he is indeed present to solidify the leadership of the Yakuza and try to build the organization back up and reclaim its power.~”

“~Then we deal with him.~” Carmine said. “~The last thing we need is the Japanese regaining a foot hold in Gotham. The Ghost Dragons are annoying enough, and they’re just a gang…~”

“~Their new leader is trouble.~” Grunted one of the other men.

“~Never mind Lynx and the Dragons.~” Carmine snorted, looking over a stack of papers that Mario had just handed him. “~We deal with the Yakuza first.~”

Michael sidled up next to him, setting down a plate of bruschetta and refilling the man’s wine glass while he snuck looks down at the papers, to see what evidence had been gathered. It was photos and records of Akio Sanzenin, and the hotel he was staying at. Details of his security, transcripts of illegal wire taps, poorly translated from Japanese into English, giving an idea of what Sanzenin’s schedule might be like over the next couple of days. Michael backed away before he could become suspicious and simply stood back against the wall, behind and to the right of Carmine Falcone, stealing glances at the papers from time to time and catching snippets of things.

Someone at the end of the table snapped their fingers, and Michael silently went to refill another wine glass, thinking to himself ‘waiting tables sucks… I’ll bet these guys won’t even tip…’ And he caught himself smiling in amusement at that train of thought. Silvio quirked a brow at him as he held up his own glass. Michael just shook his head to tell the man it was nothing, and refilled it.

“~You know…~” Johnny said slowly, tapping his fingers on the table, “~If we could get our hands on one of the guns that the Ghost Dragons use and have someone cap him in China Town… we could set up the Ghost Dragons to take the fall for Sanzenin’s murder… Put the Yakuza against the Dragons… Let ‘em weaken each other and then we can take both of them out.~”

“~It would make more sense to frame the Triad…~” Another man snorted. “~The Yakuza and the Triad are far from allies.~”

“~But the Lucky Hand doesn’t have the power to do that here in Gotham…~” Carmine pointed out.

“~Make the Yakuza think that maybe they DO…~” Johnny suggested. “~That will make the Yakuza’s move that much more desperate. They’ll strike harder and then when they’re distracted, we can go in and finish them both off.~”

“~That would be one helluva gamble.~” Carmine snorted. “~And not one I’m willing to take. If it went south, it would go all the way down to hell.~” He helped himself to some bruschetta. “~This operation may require us to call on some favors.~”

“~From who?~” Asked Carmine’s sister, Carla.

“~Maybe… the other families.~” Carmine said slowly. “~The Galantes might be interested in helping…~”

“~The Sicilians I don’t think are an organization we want to get into bed with…~” Said an older gentleman at the end of the table, who had rudely snapped his fingers for a wine refill a few minutes past. The men around the table began to argue about whether or not to work with the Sicilians or other families.

“~Listen up…~” Carmine growled and everyone immediately went silent. Michael quirked his brows; one thing was for sure, Carmine Falcone definitely was a commanding presence. “~We need to do this, and we need to do this right. It’s not just Sanzenin. We need to knock off all the Yakuza left.~” He was looking over the papers before him. “~Are we sure this is accurate?~”

Silence.

“Is this ACCURATE?!” He demanded, this time in English.

Heads bobbed.

“No.” 

Everyone looked up. Michael was standing against the wall, fidgeting.

“Excuse me?” Carmine asked, his tone dangerous. The other men at the table were glaring.

“Umm…” Michael mumbled, slowly stepping forward. The opening of the English phrase had been too perfect, but even he was screaming at himself mentally, wondering what the fuck he thought he was doing. “I apologize. I just kind of… saw a bit of that paper when I was… pouring your wine.” He stammered, throwing a slight Texas twang into his words.

“Which one?” Falcone asked, and Michael carefully reached down and slid a few aside, showing the translation of the phone conversations; he inwardly cringed when he realized that his hands were shaking, and Carmine had noticed.

“My um… my mother is half Japanese. Dad was always… working. It was just me an’ her most times. She taught me to uh…” He eyed the men glaring at him. “… These translations aren’t accurate.” 

Carmine Falcone was staring at him now, measuring him up. Michael shifted, glancing around nervously, and then tapped on the page. “This here… ‘Kaigi wa kurabusamurai ni kaisai sa remasu‘. But the English translation here would be for ‘Kaigi wa kurabusamurai de kaisai sa remasu.’ It’s ‘ni’, not ‘de’… it’s ‘On’, not ‘In’. Club Samurai. That club is near Wayne Tower, right?” Carmine nodded. “My mom works at Wayne Tower. I’ve seen that club. It has a rooftop patio, right?” Carmine nodded again. “I think, from what I’m translating, it says the preliminary meeting will take place on the patio, not in the club itself.” Carmine’s eyes narrowed and he looked over the paper before him, then handed it to Michael.

“Anything else on here not accurate?”

‘Check and mate,’ Michael thought to himself. He scanned the page, chewing his lip as he did so, trying to stay calm as he felt all the eyes on him.

“This name is feminine, not masculine.” He said, setting the page down. “It sounds like a man’s name, to those who speak a Latin based language, but things are different in Japanese. This new second-in-command is a WOMAN, not a man. And this here… ‘Saku’… the word ‘plan’ is correct, but it has other meanings. Looking at the context of the sentence, I think that this one is ‘split’. So it’s not that they’re making a plan with someone, they’re splitting away… severing ties. Dissolving an alliance. And then…” He trailed off and snickered. “Uh… that’s ‘binbo’, not ‘bimbo’…” Chuckles went around the table.

“… Frederico?” Carmine Falcone said, and one man looked up.

“Sir?”

“Fire our translator.” More laughter as Frederico sunk down in embarrassment and nodded, muttering an affirmative that it would be done.

“Anything else… Angelo, was it?” Carmine asked.

“A few grammatical errors but nothing else major…” Michael said, flipping to the second page. “… Wait…” He frowned and looked closer. “No no… this one is all wrong… The limo isn’t taking them TO the meeting… the meeting will take place in the limo.”

“What?” Carmine asked. 

“Dinner on the roof of Club Samurai, and then a meeting will take place in the limo of a mister… Sanzenin. Seven men and women. Keep moving during the meeting so that no one will get the drop on them.”

“That’s not what the translation says at all!” Carmine complained. 

“No sir… it uh… it’s messed up. A lot. Whoever translated this knows enough to barely get by. They’re not fluent.”

“Frederico?”

“Yessir?”

“The translator?”

“Sir?”

“… Dategli i miei saluti speciali...”

“Yes sir.”

“Silvio.”

“Zio?”

“Give this boy a bonus. Now… let’s plan this out, carefully…”

________________________________________

Michael hurried down the street, heart pounding in excitement and elation. He got to the building he was staying in with that crazy skank friend of Catwoman’s and took the stairs three at a time all the way up to the seventh floor, barely panting when he made it. He skidded around the corner, pulling his keys out of his pocket and fumbling to get it into the lock. He burst inside and—

“Oh! OH! Oh God!” He blurted, eyes wide in horror before he turned away and put a hand up to obscure his view of the woman on the sofa with a man… half naked and in the middle of… well… “God, I did NOT need to see that!” He wailed.

“Well, YOU weren’t interested, sweetie.” The woman chuckled.

“… I’m a MINOR!!!” Michael howled, running for the bedroom and wondering if she did that when her own kid was staying with her.

“That kid yours?” He heard the man ask, and the woman just laughed. 

Michael slammed the door and locked it, then dropped down onto the mattress on the floor, pulling out the tablet and waking it up, tapping away on the screen. A moment later, Damian’s face appeared.

“What do you want.” The boy snorted.

“Hi.” Michael said. “Is Bruce there?” Damian eyed him, then turned his head and called over his shoulder, “Father, it’s the defector.”

“I did NOT defect! I was never in the League to being with!” Michael howled. A moment later, and he was looking at Bruce.

“Michael. You have something to report?”

“The meeting went down. This evening.” Michael said, quickly. “I know who, when, where and how this is going down against the Yakuza.”

“You do?” Bruce asked, looking mildly surprised.

“I kind of… led them to set up a plan. Just a little bit. Well, not really, I--”

“What did you do?!”

“Well… You can tell I’m not full Italian. You can see the Asian features if you look. I told them the truth; that my mother was half Japanese, I knew the language, and I corrected some bad translations and… in giving them the correct translation, I... The Yakuza are having their meeting in a limo, as they drive around town. Keep moving, present a harder target. They’re starting from Club Samurai near Wayne Tower and driving down to Tricorner… The Falcones are planning to make their move when the limo is on the Tricorner Bridge heading towards Chinatown. If they are unable to make their move there, they’ll hit the limo on the bridge over the Finger River heading towards Gotham University. By hitting them on the bridges, they cut down on civilian interference and casualties, and chances for the Yakuza to escape.”

“Hnh…” Bruce grunted, slowly allowing his eyes to glaze over as he stared at a distant point, the gears in his head turning.

“… What do you want me to do?” Michael asked after a few moments.

“Come home. Bring some Italian food!” He heard Dick call from somewhere off camera.

“The extraction has to be careful. If he just disappears, they’ll become suspicious.” Tim was heard saying.

“When is this all going down, Michael?” Bruce asked.

“Thursday.” Michael replied.

“And today is Monday…” Bruce thought aloud. “Tomorrow, turn in your notice. Tell them you’ll stay until Friday. Your mother’s job didn’t work out, you’ll be moving to Long Island to stay with your aunt until you can get back on your feet.”

“Alright. Will do.” Michael nodded. “Oh, and you may wanna track down a couple of guys. Tony Valerio was their Japanese translator? They’re not happy… Carmine Falcone told Frederico Bertucio to get rid of him permanently. And they mentioned some dirty cops. I knew a few names, but I didn’t recognize Detective Chris Houser.”

“… That’s a new name to me.” Bruce nodded. “Cardinal…”

“Huh?”

“… Good work.” Bruce said, and then the connection ended.

Michael stared at the blank tablet screen, and then grinned. Too elated to sleep, he spent the next two hours doing pushups, taking a shower and then studying the maps of Gotham before finally allowing himself to drift off.

________________________________________

The next day, Silvio was absolutely gushing about how amazing he had been at the meeting, telling him that he had been right to speak up when he did, and that Carmine Falcone had been impressed and he could definitely get him a job making extra cash running packages if that’s what he wanted. Michael drooped and sadly told him what Bruce had instructed him to. His mother had been laid off and they had no choice but to move in with family, and his aunt had offered them a place to stay.

Silvio had been sympathetic, threw a few choice phrases at big corporations who didn’t take care of their people like the Falcone organization did, and he would give Michael a few delivery jobs before he left for the extra cash and a letter of recommendation for the organization in Long Island (and where to go and who to find), and that evening after closing up, Silvio handed him a small package, gave him an address and told him that he would be paid on delivery.

“It’s in the neighborhood.” Silvio told him. “I know you’re new to Gotham, so I’m not sending you off too far.”

“Thanks.” Michael grinned. “I think I can manage this.”

“See that you do, son. See you tomorrow.” And Michael slipped out of the building to let Silvio lock up. He looked at the address and closed his eyes, thinking for a moment, visualizing the maps of the area, then turned and jogged down the street. Two blocks down, seven blocks over. He turned down an alley, tucking the package into his belt and making a run for the fire escape ladder, leaping up and catching the bottom rung, heaving himself up hand over hand and then making his way up to the roof. Once there, he took in a deep breath and looked around. 

When he had first come to Gotham, all he had known was where to find the Bat Signal. But now he knew the whole city. At least on a map. He was eager to get to know it in person. His eyes swept the buildings around him, and finally landed on the building he was heading to. Grinning, he took off running, eager for the night when he would traverse these rooftops with the Bat Clan. 

He took a flying leap over the dark chasm between two buildings and continued his sprint, dodging around air vents and skylights, then changed his direction and headed down the seven blocks, once he had run the two blocks over. He was disappointed when he reached his destination; he had been enjoying familiarizing himself with the Gotham rooftops, even if it was just a small part of Little Italy. He slid down the fire escape at a pace that any normal person would have broken their neck attempting to do and hit the ground lightly, pulling the package from his belt. He trotted up to the back door of little market that sold specialty Italian meats, artisan cheese and wine, and knocked.

A moment later the door was opened by a man in his forties, glaring at him suspiciously with his hand on a gun stuck in his belt. Michael held up the packaged. “From Silvio Falcone.” He said.

“… You a new package boy?” The man asked, accepting the bundle.

“I guess so.” Michael shrugged. “Temporarily.”

“Hn…” the man sighed, untying the twine and opening the paper, glancing down into package. He raised his eyes and stared at Michael for a moment, then nodded and dug into his pocket, handing Michael some folded bills.

“Have a good night!” Michael called, accepting the money and trotting off down the alley. Once he heard the door close he pocketed the money and grinned, charging for the fire escape and once more making his way to the roof tops… the run back to his temporary home was way too short. He couldn’t WAIT to get off of this case and get out into the city in a cape for the first time… he just had to wait three more days…


	12. Fledgling Flight

Work on Thursday seemed to drag on forever to Michael. When it was over, he rushed to deliver three packages that Silvio had left for him, and then ran like hell back “home”, running into his room and digging out his tablet, calling the Cave.

“Master Michael.” Alfred greeted.

“Hi!” Michael answered, smiling at the man. “So? Any news? What’s happened?! Has it gone down yet?!”

“Slow down, young sir.” Alfred said with a patient smile. “Master Bruce called in less than three minutes ago. All went down without a hitch. Batman, his allies and the police all moved in when members of both organizations were on the bridge, but before the Falcones made their move. Eight Yakuza and a dozen soldiers in the Falcone family are in custody. The FBI is on its way to take custody.”

“Great!” Michael exclaimed. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow night!”

“Yessir. Master Dick will pick you up two blocks west after your shift.”

“Excellent.” Michael nodded. “REALLY miss your cooking, Alfred!”

“Indeed.” Alfred said wryly. “Good night, Master Michael.”

And the next night, after his shift, Angelo bid Silvio and the rest of the staff goodbye, shouldered his backpack with everything he’d had with him on this operation and took off down the street. He was in good spirits, his eagerness to return to Wayne Manor almost childish in a way. And then a wave of amazement flooded through him as he realized that he was eager to go… HOME.

It was a sudden realization that he had a new home now, maybe with a whole new family to go with it. More than just Brothers in Arms, but actual brothers. He reached the street corner and skittered around it, hopping up the front steps of one of the buildings and tucking himself into the shadows to wait for his ride. He checked his watch, sighed and waited. And waited… and waited…

Nearly an hour after he had arrived, he looked up at the sound of an engine… but no engine belonging to a car that Dick would be picking him up in. And then right before his eyes, the Batmobile pulled up and with a hiss, the canopy slid open. Batman was sitting there.

“Get in before someone sees you.” He ordered, and Michael did so. He scampered down the stairs and leapt into the cockpit, watching as the canopy immediately closed. 

“Um… not that I’m not grateful or anything, but I thought Dick was—“

“Something came up. I happened to be in the neighborhood and Alfred told me where to find you.” Batman said, and Michael squeaked when the car shot off with incredible power. He fumbled for his seatbelt, feeling more like he was buckling in for a fighter jet ride.

“… You did good work.” Batman said.

“Thanks. So did you.” Michael replied. Batman glanced at him. “Well… I mean, Alfred told me that everything went down smoothly last night and—“

“It did. We couldn’t have done it without your intel.” Batman said shortly.

“Glad to be of help.”

“Alfred will have dinner for you when we get home. Rest up. Tomorrow night is your first night out. You’ll be with me. You’ve been excellent in training, but now I need to see how you perform in the field.”

“Yes sir!” Michael nodded with a grin and settled in for the ride, looking around. But soon he was asking questions. “Did you… build this yourself?”

“Mostly.” Batman answered.

“What kind of stuff can it do?”

Batman felt a smirk tugging at his lips. “Too much to list out. You’ll learn it all eventually.”

“Sweet… I’ll get to drive the Batmobile?!”

“… Not anytime soon, don’t get your hopes up.”

“Aw…” Michael pouted. “Probably for the best. I don’t have much experience driving cars.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah… when I took off, I was on a motorcycle.”

“Alright then. We’ll start you with that.”

“Really?”

“Once I’ve decided you can take on the city solo, you’ll need your own transport. Get together with Dick. He knows how to build a proper bike for our work.”

“Awesome!”

When they arrived home, Alfred did indeed have a hot meal ready for Michael. It was a Shepherd’s Pie, and Alfred simply said that he figured Michael could use a break from Italian food. Michael very blandly confirmed that he was correct and sat down to eat, barely looking up when the Batmobile roared out of cave and headed back to the city.

“Finish eating and head to bed. You’ll need your rest.” Alfred said.

“Thanks Alfred. Good to be back. Did you miss me?”

“Indeed sir.” Alfred said with a smile. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” Michael called after him, wondering what all the others were up to that evening. He finished his dinner and trotted upstairs, washing his dish and then heading up to his room. He pushed the door open and stepped inside… and stopped. There was a long, thin package on his bed, wrapped in a black cloth. Michael approached it slowly, dropping his back pack on the sofa as he passed it. He stood at the foot of his bed staring at the package, and then reached out to pick up the piece of paper on it, unfolding it.

Grayson helped me with the design and building of these. Four weapons in one that you are familiar with. Figure it out yourself.

~Damian

“Huh…” Michael laughed slightly, and gently folded back the fabric. His eyes fell upon a pair of gleaming, black steel escrima sticks, each one two feet in length. They were covered in red lines and grooves, betraying them as more than they appeared. Smiling, he gripped what appeared to be the bottom of the escrima and lifted them up, feeling their weight and balance in his hands and he twirled them lightly, testing the feel of them. He cocked his head as he looked at the red birds on the escrima, just above the hand holds. He gently rubbed his thumbs over them, and then frowned, hesitated, and pressed them down. 

“Whoa!” Michael gasped, jumping as nine inch long blades, gleaming gold, popped out of the length of the escrima, swinging up and out like a pair of wings before locking into place, transforming the escrima into a pair of kama. Michael admired them in amazement, then moved across the room in a series of attacks to test the feel of the weapons in their new forms. They were incredibly well balanced, and when he grabbed the blades and wiggled them, he was pleased at how solid they were. He clicked the little birds again and the blades dropped down and in, snapping back into their place within the shaft of the escrima. He inspected the weapons closely, wondering what the third weapon in them was. And then he noticed that the lines that the birds sat on looked like a track… he pressed the birds down again and this time pushed them up as well, letting them slide higher on their tracks. There was a snap from the middle of the escrima and they seemed to break in two in the very middle, the top half encasing the kama blades falling off, but then dangling by a six inch long steel chain; they had transitioned into a pair of nunchucks.

“Dick… Damian… you rock…” Michael breathed, spreading his feet out and dropping into a middle stance, beginning to whip them around, familiarizing himself with how these moved, how they should be wielded. His heart rate increased and a smile split his features as he stepped forward, out of the middle stance and into a back stance, then stepping and pivoting, spinning around as he struck with one weapon and spun the other over his head. Then he leapt up into the air, kicking off and throwing himself into a forward flip, pulling down the bird buttons reconverting the weapons into escrima, bringing them slashing out to the side as he landed on one knee… and shattering one of the little vases that held a stalk of bamboo.

“… Oops.” He mumbled, grinning sheepishly and standing, transferring both weapons into one hand and picking up the poor little bamboo with the other, moving it into one of the other vases as he dropped his new toys on the bed and went to clean up the water and broken glass. Once the mess was taken care of, he moved to the narrow spot between his bed and the window, away from the little glass vases to avoid any further mishaps. He then returned to the weapons, wondering what its final form was. He began to inspect them closely, looking for any other little buttons or switches, but found none. He checked to see if the little bird shaped buttons did anything else, but found nothing. 

It was nearly ten minutes later that he finally noticed something looked slightly off with the bottoms of the escrima. After examining them for a moment, he carefully brought them together, startling slightly when they snapped together, brought into contact with powerful magnets. Little teeth from one of them slid into the grooves on the other, helping to lock them together, and then, on instinct, Michael twisted them. 

“Ah!” He yelped as the top halves of each escrima popped out, each extending by another twelve inches. The two escrima sticks had come together and expanded into a six foot long steel bo staff... and breaking through one of the window panes. “… Oops…” He mumbled again, wincing. But even the broken window wasn’t enough to dampen his spirits. 

He ran down to the gym (nearly knocking over a crystal vase as he stampeded down the hall) and spent the next two hours familiarizing himself with his new weapon and learning to wield it and transition between its four forms with fluid ease. It wasn’t until Bruce found (and scolded) him that he finally retired to his room, showering and heading to bed, intending to extend his sincere gratitude to Dick and Damian upon waking…

Of course, he also had to fess up to the broken window, and Alfred merely sighed and went to arrange to have it fixed, leaving Michael, Dick, Tim, Damian and even Bruce, chuckling into their pancakes. Then there was a blowup argument that would have come to bloodshed, had Bruce not intervened, because apparently Tim had put a lot of effort into designing Michael’s new weapon, but Damian hadn’t given him any credit or recognition for it. Dick just told Michael that he would get used to Tim and Damian being at each other’s throats all the time.

Michael sighed and once things calmed down, he sought out Tim and thanked him as well. Tim just smiled, saying “You’re welcome. I wasn’t upset with you. The Demon Spawn and I just don’t get along.”

“Well, you DID mention that he’s tried to kill you…” Michael said, and Tim saw that Michael was REALLY wanting to ask about that. 

Tim sighed, saying “more than once… I’ll tell you later. I hear you’re going out for your first time, tonight.”

“That’s what Bruce said last night.” Michael nodded. 

“Let me give you some advice.” Tim said, following Michael into his room and closing the door. Michael faced him. “Bruce is going to test you. In a LOT of ways. But first and foremost, as a new soldier, he’s going to need to make sure that you can follow orders. No matter what. He KNOWS what he’s doing and you need to trust him when he gives you an order, and he needs to know that he can trust you to follow them.”

Michael nodded, saying “I can follow orders. That’s nothing new.”

“Even when it looks like someone might die?”

“What do you mean?”

“… A while back, my dad found out that I was Robin. I had to quit. Bruce… named Spoiler his next Robin. She lasted all of a month before he fired her.”

“FIRED her?”

“She disobeyed orders. Batman had engaged an assassin named Scarab. They were fighting it out and it looked like Batman was losing. He told her to hang back. To not step in. He told her DO NOT engage. But she thought he needed help, so she went in anyway. Batman had been completely in control, even if it didn’t look like it. She went in and it all went to hell. He fired her on the spot, because she couldn’t follow orders.”

“Wow.”

“You HAVE to trust Bruce, first and foremost. With your life, with his life, and the lives of everyone around you. He knows what he’s doing. There is no one on the face of this planet who knows this city better than Batman.”

Michael nodded, “I understand.”

Tim smiled and gripped his shoulder, saying “Then good luck out there tonight.” And he left Michael to himself. Michael spent the rest of the day sitting on his sofa, playing video games. He mindlessly blew away Covenant scum in the original HALO, his eyes distant as he only partially paid attention to the game; his imagination was already in Gotham.

Alfred brought him dinner in his room at 6pm and Michael lounged on his bed after that, reading Avengers and X-Men comic books. And then the sun was setting. Michael stood before his window and watched the sky darken. Finally, there was a knock, and his bedroom door was pushed open. Bruce stood there, staring at Michael. Michael had his back to the door, his arms crossed over his chest and his hair falling in loose waves all the way down to the small of his back.

“Let’s go.” Bruce said, his voice that of Batman. Michael turned and looked at him, then took a deep breath and nodded. He followed Bruce down to the cave and the pair changed. Michael listened to Batman don his suit with practiced ease, while Michael fumbled a bit. His hands were trembling with nerves and excitement, and the adrenaline was already pumping. When he finally emerged into the cave, tucking his custom weapons into the specially made scabbards on his back, Batman was ready and waiting. Dick, Tim and Damian were all perched on a counter in a line, in jeans.

“Good luck tonight.” Dick said, grinning.

“Don’t get killed.” Damian snorted.

“Remember… LISTEN.” Tim told him with a smile and Michael nodded, brushing his fingertips over his chest where his father’s Saint Michael medal rested on his skin, under the armor of the uniform.

“Let’s go.” Batman said and Michael scurried after him, his tightly braided hair swinging wildly as he chased after the man. He jumped into the passenger seat of the Batmobile and jerked his cape in just in time to keep the canopy from slamming shut on it, making Tim and Dick snicker under their breath.

“… He’s gonna die.” Damian smirked, hopping off of the counter as the engine roared and the Batmobile roared out of the cave.

“He’ll be fine.” Dick laughed, ruffling Damian’s hair. “Hey! Let’s go play with the Glow-In-The-Dark Frisbee in the front yard!”

“Seriously?” Damian drawled. “Members of Batman Inc and the Titans, and you want to play FRISBEE, Grayson?”

“… I’m in!” Tim called, chasing after them. “And only until you guys have to head out!”

“Tch… You’re BOTH losers. Fine. Let’s do this.”

________________________________________

Michael watched the Gotham skyline rapidly getting closer. He was constantly fidgeting, feeling all over his body, making sure he didn’t forget anything, and reminding himself for the umpteenth time where everything was.

“Calm down.” Batman told him. “If you’re nervous, you make mistakes.”

“Okay…” Michael mumbled, forcing himself to sit still and trying to calm himself.

“We’re going to start with a basic patrol. You’re familiar with our patrol routes?”

“You can’t cover the entire city in one night, so you take different routes on different nights.” Michael said. “Through these routes, you’re able to cover virtually every block of the city about once a week.”

“Correct. Each route covers the entire city, just different parts of each sector.” Batman nodded. “Tonight, we start in Crime Alley.”

“… Oh.” Michael breathed.

“You know its significance.” Batman stated.

“Yes.” Michael confirmed, and Batman merely nodded. Michael turned and looked out the window, watching the last smudge of sunlight on the horizon fade away. And then they were in the city and Batman was pulling the Batmobile into an underground hidden garage.

“This is one of Tim’s safehouses, right?”

“Code names only in the field.” Batman said, harshly. 

“Sorry.” Michael mumbled, wincing.

“Yes.”

“This was the theater you were at with your parents before…?”

“Yes. Red Robin converted it into an apartment for himself, with his own base of operations underneath. He stays here half of the time. We’ll leave the car here and go by roof. You need to learn the layout of the city.”

“Yessir.” Michael nodded, hopping out and following Batman outside, his heart beginning to pound in excitement again. And then, he was in ecstasy. All of Gotham was before him, his playground, and his heart was soaring for the first time since his entire world had shattered around him. Perhaps his heart could heal after all… Maybe it wasn’t just a dream that Cardinal could fly.

Batman watched him closely, and felt a slight smile touch his lips. Before his eyes, he could see the young man’s soul begin to heal. And knowing that the kid needed it, Batman picked up the pace and changed course, heading for the highest point in the whole city; Wayne Tower. That was as good a spot as any to let the boy earn his wings, even if it was a bit early… but hell… the kid had guts…

The ascent via the motorized grappling hook was enough to bring Michael a thrill, but the view from the top of Wayne Tower took his breath away.

“… It’s amazing.” He breathed, a smile on his face.

“This is what we fight to protect.” Batman said. Michael turned and looked at him.

“And it’s worth it?” He asked, a slight undertone that betrayed some desperate hope within him, and Batman felt as though they had returned to that conversation in the Bat Cave months ago, when he had offered to give Michael something worth fighting for. He looked at the fifteen year old boy by his side and said “Absolutely.” Michael gave him a smile and nod, and moved out to the very end of the large, steel eagle head on the corner and perched precariously on the edge, casting his gaze out over the lights of the city below.

And then, a bright light punched through the air and cast its familiar glow on the low hanging clouds. Michael looked up and felt a buzz of electricity tingle through him as he stared at the Bat Signal. He had only seen it twice. The first time, he had been the one to make the call, his life depending on the answer. And now, he was going to be with the respondent.

“Let’s go.” Batman said, his tone immediately hard, and with a snap of his cape he dove off of the building, his tension line in his hand. Michael took a deep breath as he drew his own line and secured it, then stared down at the abyss below him. He could feel Batman’s eyes on him from the darkness, waiting to see if he had the nerve to make the jump.

Michael felt himself backing away from the edge, his pulse pounding in his ears. His legs felt like jelly beneath him, but he had never been so excited in his life, the spice of terror spiraling through it.

Down below, FAR down below, Batman had actually needed to take out his binoculars to watch. He thought back, remembering this jump the first time he had taken it… He would only admit to himself that he had afraid he wouldn’t make it, and would end up on the news the next night with the headline “Bruce Wayne Snaps: Young Heir Of Wayne Enterprises Leaps To His Death In A Bat Suit”. He remembered the first time his protégés had taken it. He remembered the white faces, wide eyes and trembling legs, even on Dick Grayson, who had grown up performing daring aerial stunts. Bold and brash Jason Todd had been left speechless and trembling. Quiet Tim Drake had actually dropped to his knee upon landing and took a few minutes to gather himself, though he had smiled in pride at his own daring afterwards. Barbara Gordon had nearly been sick, Cassandra Cain had hesitated for the first time ever, as far as Batman had witnessed, and Spoiler had let out too much of her line; Batman had to catch her before she ended up as street pizza. Even Damian had seemed a bit shaken, but played it off with his usual bravado.

Now it was time to see how Michael would take this Rite of Passage… And as soon as Batman focused on the steel eagle, Michael exploded into a sprint and took that Leap of Faith, flying off of the edge without a moment’s hesitation. And as his shriek of terror and delight reached Batman’s ears, the man could only smile and murmur “I’ll be damned…” 

As Michael’s plummet brought him closer to Batman, the elder leapt off of his own perch and they were soon falling side by side.

“Follow my lead EXACTLY!” Batman called and Michael did so, wrapping his hands in the line he was clutching and using his cape as a rudder to angle out his fall. Then the line grew taught and the fall became a smooth swing around the corner of the building and both finally landed lightly on a significantly smaller building a block away. The lines retracted into their casing and Batman watched as a very pale and shaken looking Michael stumbled across the roof, hysterical laughter bursting from his chest.

“What a RUSH! WOO!!!” And then Michael leaned over, bracing his hands on his knees and letting his head drop. “Omigod I’m gonna hurl…” He stood there gasping for a moment, and spat on the rooftop as he managed to get control of his stomach. Then, Batman watched as his legs buckled and he toppled to the ground, rolling over onto his back and staring at the sky, laughing once more and sounding eerily like an Arkham patient as he did so, and then trailing off to softly chanting "shit... oh shit... oh shit... shit..." and then groaning and covering his face with his hands. Batman just let him gather himself, and after a few minutes Michael managed to stagger to his feet. Upon straightening, he stumbled to the side a few steps before shaking his head, turning and saying with a grin, “Can we do that again?!” Batman had to fight to keep a straight face.

“Maybe later. For now, we have to head to GCPD.”

“Oh. Oh! Right… sorry!”

“FOCUS.” Batman told him, a slight quirk to his lips as he turned and led the way… the kid had passed that test with flying colors, though he had the honor of being the only one to scream on the way down so far…

________________________________________

James Gordon stood beside the large spotlight, sipping his cooling coffee as he watched the lights of a distant commercial airliner cross the sky, heading into Gotham airport from Metropolis. He vaguely registered a siren, identifying it as one of the city’s ambulances. He heard the distant pounding of the bass in a car that was playing its music way too loud about a block over. And then, he heard the whoosh of a cape, and the crunch of boots on gravel to his left. These sounds were echoed a moment later, and he turned, expecting to see Batman and Robin. He paused… the Batman was indeed there. But the one with him was not Robin. Gordon frowned and narrowed his eyes as he looked over this new face. The uniform looked like a hybrid of those work by Nightwing and Red Robin, with a bit of a ninja twist to it. And then he saw the long braided hair down the boy’s back and it clicked.

“He survived.” Gordon said, staring at the boy. “You’ve had him this whole time?”

“Yes.” Batman said, then turned. “Jim… this is Cardinal. Cardinal… Commissioner James Gordon.” The pair nodded to one another, and then Batman got down to business. “What did you need.”

“Here.” Gordon said, and held out a black box with a neon green question mark on it.

“… Nigma is back, I see.” Batman sighed, taking it.

“Looks like it.” Gordon said.

Batman pulled the purple ribbon and let it fall away, taking off the lid. Inside was a small recorder. Batman picked it up and pressed play. Music began to play.

“Sinatra?” Gordon asked.

“New York, New York…” Batman nodded.

“At least he has good taste in music?” Cardinal offered. Gordon glanced at him, but Batman didn’t move. He just let the song play, listening carefully. When it ended, there was nothing else.

“Any idea?” Gordon asked.

“Not yet. I’m going to run this through some filters, see if there’s anything hidden in the back ground and I’ll get back to you.” Batman said. Gordon nodded. “Cardinal.” Batman said, and Gordon watched the young man follow silently, following the man off of the edge of the roof.

“… He’s building a damn army.” Gordon chuckled, shutting off the signal and heading back down into the building.

________________________________________

Cardinal followed the Batman across the city, and into one of the many safe houses that were set up. Once there, Batman booted up the computer and plugged in the little device. A moment later and Tim appeared on the screen.

“What’s up?” He asked.

“The Riddler sent this.” Batman said, sending Tim the audio file.

“… That’s Frank Sinatra’s “New York, New York”,” Tim said.

“I know. Run that through every filter we have.”

“Got it.” Tim nodded, and the connection was terminated. Then Batman began to type away.

“What are you looking for?” Cardinal asked, hesitant to disturb the man.

“Referencing anything going on in Gotham this week that has to do with New York,” Batman told him.

“You’re kidding, right?” Cardinal asked. “That’s gonna be a LOT of stuff, right?”

“But it gives us a starting point.” Batman pointed out. “Any suggestions?”

“What? Me?!”

“You’ve studied a lot of information about Gotham…”

“Um… okay. Well, I know there’s a New York Avenue in the suburbs… And a night club called New York, New York on the river…”

“Hm. Yes, that’s correct.” Batman nodded, opening a new window. “… And they’re having a Trivia night… let’s go.”

“You think… the Riddler is at a bar’s Trivia night?”

“No.” Batman said. “But leave no stone unturned. And sometimes, his riddles lead you to MORE riddles.”

“Okay then…” Cardinal nodded, and followed.


	13. Being Childish

Club New York, New York was a bust. Batman and Cardinal sat up in the dark rafters and watched the Trivia night, muttering the answers to the questions to one another. Cardinal snickered at one point and said that they should just enter the trivia contest. Batman calmly told him that he didn’t need the $100 prize. Cardinal just grinned and continued to spout off the answers, making his mentor smirk.

But eventually the trivia contest was over, the winning team collected their prize and Batman turned and slipped away. Cardinal followed, and soon they were out in the hot summer night again. “Oh… it’s on again.” Cardinal commented, looking up at the Bat Signal.

“Let’s go.” Batman told him, and Cardinal grinned and followed, loving the thrill of travelling through the city over the rooftops. 

Gordon turned on the spot when he heard the loud “WOO!!!” and saw Cardinal come flying down, crash to the rooftop and roll, stumbling to his feet with a grin on his face. He quirked a brow and a moment later Batman landed lightly on the roof, saying “CONTROL.”

“Yessir.” Cardinal nodded sheepishly, but was unable to hide his smile completely.

Gordon grinned as Batman approached. “You must have your hands full with him.”

“Not nearly as much as he could be… or as much as the others have been on occasion.” Batman commented dryly. Gordon chuckled at that.

“Well, anyway…” The commissioner said, getting down to business. “We were called in to a disturbance in a hotel room at the Gotham Westin Hotel. The room was trashed. The man who was staying there was missing. And THIS was on the dresser.” And the commissioner passed Batman a bright green envelope with a purple question mark on it. “And the guest, a Mark Ramsay, is from New York City.”

Batman paused, then opened the envelope and pulled out a card. “… Jim Fras.” He read.

“Who the hell is that?” Gordon asked.

“I don’t know. But I’ll find out.” Batman said, and he whirled and strode towards the edge of the roof. Cardinal followed, and Gordon found a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth at the eagerness the boy displayed as he leapt off of the roof. THIS kid was different than the others. He showed more confidence than any of Batman’s protégés ever had right off the bat (aside from the current Robin, that is, though he seemed to have the disposition of the first Robin, thankfully), but Gordon smirked and thought to himself that no matter how confident and enthusiastic this kid was, he had a LONG way to go and a lot to learn to come near to what Nightwing and Red Robin had become… and he had a lot to prove before Gordon would trust him…

________________________________________

“Jim Fras.” Tim said, walking towards the Batmobile as Batman and Cardinal got out, calling it a night. “In 1960, he composed the song “Beautiful Nebraska”. It was named the official State Song on June 1st, 1967.”

“So Mark Ramsay was from New York… the next target will be from Nebraska?” Michael asked, removing his mask.

“Likely.” Batman said, pulling off his own cowl. “We need to find out who. Tim… what was Mark Ramsay in town for?”

“A convention.” Tim said, returning to his seat before the computer. “Gamer Con. A video game convention. This is an event where some of the newest, cutting edge technology is revealed and showcased. He was a representative there to unveil some new tech.”

“… need someone under cover again?” Michael asked, a little too eagerly. Tim laughed and Bruce just smiled, saying “Nice try, kid.”

“Never hurts to try.” Michael shrugged, not at all ashamed.

“How was your first night out?”

“Quiet.” Michael said.

“I wanted it to be.” Bruce nodded. “Dick and Damian are out there handling things for us.” Michael looked up at him. “Right now, I want to focus on you learning the city. Not from a map, but from actually BEING there. Learn its feel, its rhythm. How it lives, moves, sleeps, wakes, breathes.” Michael nodded his understanding (though he wasn’t sure if he DID understand).

“Don’t worry, Mikey.” Tim said. “You’ll get to bust heads soon enough.”

“I’ll bust YOURS if you call me that again.” Michael shot back and Bruce looked up from his own research, smirking in amusement at the fire in the boy.

“Alright, alright!” Tim laughed. “Sorry… didn’t know you’d be that opposed to it.” Michael just harrumphed under his breath and headed to change and shower. As soon as he was gone, Tim turned around. “How’d he do?”

“So far so good. Not much done tonight aside from meeting Gordon… and the Jump.”

“Wait… you took him to Wayne Tower?” Tim asked, sitting up. “To jump? Already?!” Bruce nodded. “… And?”

“… He screamed.” Bruce said, allowing a grin to come forth. “All the way down.” Tim burst out laughing. “But I think it was for the thrill more than the fear. He almost sounded like he was on a roller coaster.”

“Ah…” Tim laughed, nodding. “I almost wet my pants the first time I made that jump…” 

Bruce chuckled. “Jason hyperventilated afterwards. And only Dick took that jump faster than Michael. Cassandra would have been the next fastest.”

“Who took the longest to get the nerve to jump?” Tim asked.

“You.”

“Damn!” Tim cried, grinning.

“Dick was ready, but nervous. Jason and Damian had too much pride to allow themselves to hesitate longer than they did. Barbara felt that she had to prove herself to me. You had to over think it.”

“I almost over thought myself out of it.” Tim admitted, and Bruce smiled again. “And Michael?”

“I think it was a Leap of Faith for him…” Bruce said thoughtfully, leaning back and crossing his leg over his knee.

“Jumping into a new life?”

“Acknowledging that, yes. But a Leapt of Faith in himself, in me—US, and I think he does indeed have Faith.”

“You mean, God?”

“Yes.”

“Hm…” Tim leaned back, drumming his fingers on his knee.

“… I also think he might be an adrenaline junkie.” Bruce said, suddenly.

“Aren’t we all?”

“To Dick’s extreme.” Bruce specified.

“Oh. Great. Wonder how long it will be before Dick takes Michael Base Jumping.”

“Don’t give them the idea.” Bruce snorted, standing and rolling his eyes at his eldest son’s addiction to the sensation of Free Fall… Hell, he seemed to recall Clark telling him that he had once caught Nightwing, who had been falling at terminal velocity, thinking he was a suicide attempt… until an annoyed Nightwing had blurted out “Hey! I’m jumping here!” and glared at Superman as he dangled by the ankle from the grasp of Metropolis’ Favorite Son…

The computer beeped then and Tim swiveled around, saying “There are five people at that convention from Nebraska. Guests, not attendees.” 

“Get that information to Gordon. Get them in police protection as soon as possible.”

“You got it, boss.” Tim nodded.

________________________________________

Sunday morning found Michael, Dick and Damian in the kitchen eating large bowls of Lucky Charms, much to Alfred’s chagrin.

“I’m letting Bruce know that you can’t stay out too late tonight.” Dick said, and Michael blinked.

“Huh? Why?”

“You have New Student Orientation tomorrow morning.” Dick said.

“What?!”

“And yes, you HAVE to go. You’ll get your test results, and get signed up for your classes.”

“Not until ten!”

“But orientation starts at nine.” Dick said firmly, and Michael groaned. “If you behave for school, when you turn sixteen next month I’ll take you to get your license.”

“… License?” Michael asked.

“Driver’s license. For a car, and motorcycle.” Dick told him.

“… SWEET!”

“Oh, shut up.” Damian snapped, leaving the table. Michael looked after him, then swiveled his head around to face Dick.

“What did I say?”

“Damian’s just pissed that he knows how to drive, but can’t get his license.” Dick chuckled.

“… He’s TEN.”

“He doesn’t give a damn.” Dick all out laughed, and Michael grinned. And then, Dick went still and silent, before a sinister grin slowly crossed his face. “You. With me. NOW.” And he bolted from the table. Michael blinked, quickly drank down the pinkish-purple sugary milk from his bowl and then scrambled after him.

________________________________________

Tim had just finished getting dressed when his phone went off. He glanced at the screen, and quirked a brow, then answered with “Michael? What do you need? Out? Come out where? Uh… okay.” And he hung up, shaking his head and trotting down the stairs, heading out of his apartment in the old stable. He shuffled along the side of the house heading towards the back patio. When he turned the corner, he paused.

“… What are YOU doing here, Drake?” Damian snarled, glaring. Tim sighed, fighting the urge to roll his eyes and smack the boy.

“Looking for Michael. Have you seen him?”

“Not since breakfast.”

“What are YOU doing out here?”

“… Looking for Grayson.” Damian said slowly, and then an identical look appeared on the pair’s faces.

“Oh, I have a bad feeling about this…” Tim groaned, and Damian was immediately looking around, on high alert. And then only a moment later Tim gasped, seeing something pink hurtling at Damian’s head from above, just as Damian noted something green plummeting down towards Tim. But before either of them could say a word—

SPLOOSH!

The water balloons exploded on impact, completely soaking Tim and Damian. The pair gasped in shock at the cold water, and looked up. Michael and Dick were hanging out of Michael’s bedroom window, laughing and cheering, and then flung another pair of water balloons.

“SHIT!” Tim yelped, and he and Damian were dodging wildly.

“GRAYSON, I’LL KILL YOU FOR THIS!!!” Damian howled as he was hit square in the back by a blue balloon, just as he had dodged a yellow one.

“Dammit, Dick!” Tim howled as he skidded to the edge of the veranda and leapt over the railing, dropping down and scrambling along its length on all fours. He got to his goal, seizing the faucet and turning it all the way, then grabbing the garden hose. He peered over the edge just in time to see Michael and Dick both take flying leaps from the second story window and land lightly on the stone of the patio, Dick saying “think they noticed the ice cubes in the balloons?”

… That son of a bitch, Tim thought as he shivered.

“CRAP!” Michael cried. “Damian found a cache!!!”

“VENGEANCE!!!” Damian was roaring, and Michael shrieked and laughed as he barely dodged an orange water balloon, and Dick fled from the stream of water from the SuperSoaker, hurtling the balustrade.

“GOTCHA!” Tim bellowed, and Dick turned just in time to gasp as Tim squeezed the handle on the nozzle of the hose and a powerful stream of water soaked his surrogate older brother.

“Shit!” Michael laughed, now running from Damian as Dick fled from Tim. “Shit shit shit!!!”

“You’re BOTH going down!” Damian crowed, grinning in a childish delight they rarely saw on him. Dick skidded around a large topiary and dropped to his knees, pulling his own Super Soaker from under a bush to arm himself. He leaned out and sent a stream of water at Tim, hearing him yelp as he dove to take cover once more. Michael had scrambled around the corner of the house where several water balloons and another gun had been placed, and began chucking them at Damian.

Upstairs, screaming and shouting jerked Bruce Wayne from his sleep and he was instinctively on his feet and heading for the sounds of trouble, ready for anything. He reached the window and threw open the curtains, bursting through the French doors and rushing to the balcony edge. He stared down at the chaos ensuing in his back yard.

“… What the HELL are you doing, Damian?!” He shouted. Damian turned and looked up at his father, and then Tim’s face appeared over the edge of the patio, Dick popped up from behind a topiary, and Michael peered out from behind the far corner of the house opposite Bruce’s room.

“… GRAYSON started it!” Damian immediately declared.

“Started what?” Bruce demanded to know, coming to realize that he had probably just run outside in his underwear for no reason at all. And then it hit him… they were all soaking wet.

“THIS!!!” Dick shouted, and Bruce saw red… a moment before the balloon exploded all over him.

He gasped sharply at the ice cold water, stumbling back and coughing a bit as he heard hysterical laughter coming from the young men in the yard. He retreated back into the house, slamming the doors and shaking water from his hair and wiping the rest away with his robe… dammit all, there had to have been ice in that balloon…

“Ahem…” He turned as Alfred cleared his throat, blinking water out of his eyes. Alfred stood there, a devious look in his eyes… And a large water gun in his hands. “Perhaps taking them unawares would be wise?” He suggested, a twinkle in his eye. “Master Timothy appeared to be wielding the garden hose.”

At least that didn’t have ice in it, Bruce thought to himself. Wait… ice…

“… I am NOT in that tolerant of a mood. Do we still have Mr. Freeze’s gun in storage?” Bruce growled.

“That would HARDLY be setting an example for—“

“Screw the example.” Bruce snorted, and stormed from the room. Alfred sighed and shook his head, and only minutes later the back doors flew open and Bruce stepped out onto the patio in a pair of dry jogging pants. A balloon whizzed by and exploded over Damian, but no one moved. Everyone stared at Bruce.

“You want to cool off?” He thundered. “I’ll cool you off!” And he raised the Cold Gun. Tim, Dick and Damian immediately had the Deer-In-Headlights look on their faces.

“… RUN!!!” Tim yelled, and that was like the starter pistol going off. Tim, Dick and Damian bolted, running for the trees, eyes wide. “RUN RUN RUN!!!” And then they were gone. Michael stood on the edge of the porch, looking very confused.

“… What IS that?” He finally asked. Bruce slowly turned and looked at him, raised the gun, and fired. Michael gasped loudly as the frigid blast struck the terrace fifteen yards ahead of him, and began to tear a freezing path towards him, leaving jagged ice crystals in its wake.

“SHIT!!!” He screamed, tripping over himself as he ran like hell, “OH SHIT! OH SHIT! OH SHIT!!!” And then he, too, was gone.

Bruce lowered the gun and smirked.

“Was that REALLY necessary?” Alfred sighed.

“… Lock the doors. They want to play outside, they can play outside.” Bruce simply snorted and headed back to the Bat Cave to lock up the Cold Gun once more, pleased with the results of his less-than-level-headed display.

________________________________________

It was over an hour before Michael, Dick, Tim and Damian dared to return to Wayne Manor, and once they had, they found that they had been locked out. They cleaned the mess of their battle from the yard, hoping that would allow them to come back inside, but Alfred told Tim over his cell phone that he had been ordered not to let them back in until all the ice on the back porch had melted. Seeing that this would take some hours yet, the quartet made their way to Tim’s apartment in the old stable, though Tim seemed less than thrilled to have Damian in his personal space.

They spent the rest of the day there, Dick and Tim telling old “War Stories” with Damian and Michael as their captive audience (though Damian feigned boredom) and were only let into the house at sundown for dinner. Even then they crept into the dining room, eyeing Bruce with caution. 

“I trust there will not be a repeat performance?” Bruce asked, specifically glaring at Dick.

“Hey, sometimes you just gotta let go and be completely immature!”

“What’s the point of growing up if you can’t act a little childish sometimes?” Tim said, and Michael grinned.

“The Fourth Doctor.”

“Damn straight.” Tim nodded. “… Allons-y.”

“… Geronimo.” Michael mumbled back.

“Oh, you are my new best friend.” Tim announced with a grin.

“Alright, enough.” Bruce said, smiling slightly. “Just leave me out of your games in the future.”

“Says the guy who brought the Nuke to the Revolutionary War.” Tim snorted, and the others laughed.

“What the hell WAS that thing?!” Michael asked.

“One of Mr. Freeze’s Cold Guns.” Bruce said.

“… Seriously?!”

“I totally forgot we even had that thing.” Tim admitted.

“You’ll remember now!” Dick laughed.

“Alright, enough. Eat your dinner, we have work to do tonight.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to eat on the run.” Alfred said suddenly, walking in with a plate piled with foil wrapped bundles. “The Signal is on, sir. I made spaghetti and meatballs, but I’ve put the meatballs into sandwiches instead.”

Bruce sighed, accepting the sandwich that Alfred handed to him. “Thanks…”

“Sorry to ditch, Al…” Tim said, sincerely.

“Quite alright. Be safe.” Alfred said, and the group of men nodded to him, and all trooped downstairs.

“Michael.” Batman said, striding towards the Batmobile. “We’re going to go see Gordon.”

“Okay.” Michael nodded, glancing back at Damian, who was baiting Tim again; Tim just gave Dick the keys to his car, the RedBird, and said “You take my car, I’ll take your bike. I am NOT riding with that little jerk.”

“Wimp.” Damian snorted.

“Demon spawn.” Tim shot back, and Dick just sighed and shook his head, herding Damian into the car.

“Wow… They take sibling rivalry to the extreme.” Michael commented as the car’s canopy snapped closed.

“Don’t remind me…” Batman growled, and the car roared out of the cave.


	14. Red Hood

“Are you seriously just gonna climb in his window unannounced?”

Gordon looked up at the question that was blurted out on the window ledge. He turned and chuckled as Batman slid into his office through the open window, saying “kid’s not as sneaky as you are.”

Batman gave him a rare smile, replying “Oh, he’ll learn.”

“Learn what?” Cardinal asked, hopping inside.

“How to stay quiet.”

“… Oh. Sorry.” He winced

“Anyway, I’m glad you’re here.” Gordon said, getting down to business. “Unfortunately, we weren’t able to locate one of the people on the list you gave me. And then THIS turned up in their booth at the convention.” And Gordon presented Batman with a potted plant with a little tag hanging off of it showing a question mark. Gordon glanced at the window as Batman inspected the plant, noting the arrival of familiar faces. Red Robin slipped in, followed by Nightwing and then Robin, who perched on the windowsill. Cardinal skirted around Batman’s cape to allow the others a bit more room in the office that was quickly becoming cramped, but then he saw the plant. His eyes widened as he stared at the pale leaves and light purple flowers.

“Hey… I know that.” He said.

“That’s our riddle? A house plant?” Robin scoffed. “What kind of clue is that?

“Let’s take a closer look and we’ll find out.” Batman said. “Let’s go.” And Gordon watched as they all filed out one at a time, Batman taking the little plant with him. They headed to the safe house that Batman had set up in Wayne Tower, and were soon all staring around at the little plant.

Cardinal smiled, leaning in and inhaling deeply. “Mmmm… I miss that.”

“What is it?” Nightwing asked.

“Sage.” Red Robin identified, and Cardinal nodded saying “Yeah… Weird.”

“What is?” Batman asked.

“For starters,” Red Robin said, typing away at the computer, “it doesn’t grow in this part of the country.”

“It’s also out of season.” Cardinal told him. “It’s too late in the year for sage to be blooming. Especially this far north, right?” He looked at Red Robin, who nodded in confirmation.

“So now you’re a florist?” Robin sneered.

“No. But I grew up in an area where it bloomed.” Cardinal said. “A different variety, but…”

“Again… What kind of clue is that?” Robin snorted.

“The others have all been songs, indicating a place.” Red Robin said. “So this one must, too.”

“Texas.” Cardinal replied.

“Huh?” Red Robin asked.

“Deep In The Heart of Texas.” Cardinal told him.

“Ohhhh… Right right right!” Nightwing nodded. “The stars at night are big and bright!”

“Deep in the heart of Texas.” Cardinal recited, nodding. “Coyotes wail along the trail… the prairie sky is wide and high… The rabbits rush around the brush…”

“And the sage?” Batman asked.

“The sage in bloom is like perfume.” Cardinal recited.

“That has to be it.” Red Robin said, sitting down at the computer and typing away. “If the sage is out of season for blooming, he would have had to specifically hunt down a sage plant that WAS in bloom. That’s WAY too specific. Here. Here are all the guests and representatives at the convention from Texas.”

“… That’s a lot.” Nightwing said, staring at the list. “Twenty nine…”

“We need to narrow that down.” Batman said.

“Can we see them on a map?” Cardinal asked. Red Robin nodded and pulled one up, dots appearing on it. Cardinal leaned in and circled a general area with his finger. “Everyone in this area… nine names.”

“Huh?” Nightwing asked.

“Well… like Red Robin said. Way too specific.” Cardinal shrugged. “Most people when they think of Texas think of the Bluebonnets, or with songs, ‘The Yellow Rose of Texas’. But he chose ‘Deep in the Heart of Texas’. Those people are from Austin, San Antonio, and the cities around them. In Central Texas; In the Heart of the Texas.”

“… I think Cardinal’s right...” Batman nodded. “Nine names. We need to track them all down and keep them safe until the police have time to mobilize and ready safe houses to take them into protective custody.”

“There are five of us.” Red Robin said. “We can call up the others. Batgirl, Batwoman, Spoiler and Huntress.”

“Helena will be thrilled.” Nightwing snickered.

“… Make the calls, Tim.” Batman said. “Then you find Beth Hogan. Nightwing, find Alan Heathridge, Robin, track down Marty Sellers.”

“Right.” Nightwing nodded, and ran from the room. Robin was on his heels saying “Grayson! Betcha I find mine first!”

Red Robin, in the mean time, was typing away. “Okay… Helena will find Rebecca Schaeffer, Babs is going to find Sean Thurman, Steph will find Esteban Gonzalez and Kate will get Mike Lee.”

“Okay.” Batman nodded.

“Cardinal.” Red Robin said, turning. “You know where the Four Seasons Hotel is?”

“Yeah.”

“Rachel Avery should be staying there. Room 1447.”

“Okay.” Cardinal nodded, realizing with a surge of anxious excitement that he was being sent out into the city alone.

“I’ll find Nathan Gerard.” Batman growled, then focused on Cardinal. “Do not approach. Get eyes on her and stay out of sight. Do NOT move in unless THEY move in and you have no other option. And then, do NOT engage. Just call us, grab her and get out. Got it?" Cardinal nodded. "Good. Let’s move.” And the three darted outside and scattered. Cardinal spotted Nightwing several blocks away, gracefully flipping through the air over a chimney before disappearing. Robin was already out of sight. Within moments, Red Robin had flown over the edge of a building and Batman was just… gone.

“Damn they’re good…” Cardinal muttered, getting his bearings and then taking off across the city. Then the wind was in his ears, the traffic was a distant hum and he was overcome with that incredible euphoria. He felt empowered by his uniform, his training and his allies, and the knowledge that he could enjoy running, knowing that there weren’t assassins dogging his every step. And this job was easy! Just find the woman, Rachel Avery, and watch her until the police took her into protective custody. No sweat! The Four Seasons was already in sight!

But he never made it. He heard the sharp whistling of a projectile and dodged, hissing as he felt it glance off of his armored forearm that he had thrown out in defense. And then the figure came at him, more shuriken flying. Cardinal had his escrima in his hands in an instant, knocking two aside and flipping backwards to avoid the third. Whoever his guy was, he was good. And then he saw the red. The red helmet, the red bat on his chest…

“You… Wait!” Cardinal yelped, blocking every vicious blow. Yeah… this guy was REALLY good. “Stop!” He cried, trying to stave off the attack as the larger man finally spoke.

“You’re good. I’ll give you that.” And then the man dropped something. They exploded a moment later, revealing them to be flash and bang rounds. Cardinal stumbled back, blinded and ears ringing. All he could think was, ‘don’t hurt him! But don’t get killed!’

“I don’t know who you are—“

“Cardinal!”

“—But you’re not operating in THIS city.”

“Wait! Please! I’m a—uhnn!” Cardinal doubled over at the sharp kick to his gut.

“You’re going down.” Snarled his attacker. Cardinal backed away, blocking strike after strike as best he could half blinded, but his luck didn’t hold out long. He stumbled and his left hand was disarmed, and then he saw his own escrima hurtling at his head and he went down hard, dark spots filling his vision.

“Nnnh… please… I… I’m a friend…” He groaned, vaguely hearing the approaching boots. “Jason…”

“… what did you just call me?!” The Red Hood demanded, pulling a small canister and spraying it in Cardinal’s face. “Alright kid… time for a nap.”

________________________________________

Batgirl stared at the trashed hotel room, and sighed. She lightly tapped the radio in her cowl.

“This is Batgirl.” She called. “I didn’t make it. Sean Thurman is gone. And I have something here from the Riddler.”

“… Meet up across the street on the Double Tree once all the others have been picked up by the police.” Batman ordered, and affirmatives started to come in from all operatives. About fifteen minutes later, another voice came across the frequency.

“Marco!” Batgirl rolled her eyes as she recognized Jason Todd.

“Polo!” Dick answered happily.

“Don’t encourage him.” Batgirl mumbled to herself, trying to hold back the smile.

“Need to meet. Where are you?” Jason asked.

“We’re meeting on the Double Tree Hotel in a bit. We’re on a case.” Nightwing called back.

“Alright. See you there.” Jason replied.

“Great. Now the black sheep of the family is joining the party…” Batgirl mumbled, and headed to the Double tree. Within the next half hour, everyone had arrived. Batman looked around at his soldiers. Some friends and allies, a few his family; Nightwing, Robin, Batgirl, Red Robin, Spoiler, Huntress, Bat Woman and the Red Hood.

“Hey… Where’s Cardinal?” Red Robin asked.

“Uh… Oops?” Red Hood offered with a shrug, and tossed Red Robin something. He caught it, and stared at the black escrima with the red bird just above the handle.

“… What did you DO?!” Nightwing cried.

“Hey, I didn’t know he was with you!” Red Hood defended.

“Did you kill him?” Robin asked, sounding amused.

“No!” Red Hood snapped. “I just… incapacitated.”

“Why do you always shoot first and ask questions later?!” Red Robin howled.

“I didn’t SHOOT him, dammit!” Red Hood yelled back.

“ENOUGH.” Batman commanded, and everyone simmered down. “What happened.”

“I saw a mask and cape I didn’t know, I took him down.” Red Hood shrugged.

“He’s a FRIEND!” Nightwing cried in frustration.

“Well no one told ME that!” Red Hood complained. “He had to have been around a while! It’s obvious in hind sight that he’s trained with you!”

“In HIND SIGHT?!” Red Robin echoed. “You’re an IDIOT!!!”

“… Cardinal’s the idiot, if he let this moron take him down.” Robin laughed.

“Shut up!” Red Robin snapped at the kid.

“Well, now that I think about it, he never exactly tried to hit me back…” Red Hood mused, thoughtfully.

“You never even gave him a chance to explain, did you?” Nightwing groaned.

Off to the side, Batgirl, Batwoman, Spoiler and Huntress watched the fight.

“Boys will be boys?” Huntress offered.

“You get THESE boys together and the feathers are flying.” Batgirl huffed, crossing her arms.

“I’d love to be a fly on the wall for their Thanksgiving…” Spoiler snickered.

“I hear there’s a fifth now?” Batwoman asked.

“Yeah.” Spoiler nodded. “Cardinal. I’ve met him once, but never in uniform. And I haven’t seen him in action yet.”

“Neither have I.” Batgirl nodded. “But I hear he’s good. Damn amazing training, he just doesn’t have much field experience.”

“Sounds like fun.” Huntress sighed. “ANOTHER rookie.”

“He could clean your clock, Helena.” Batgirl smiled. “You’re good, but those boys,” and she indicated the former and current Robins all arguing loudly, “are on a whole other scale of good, and he’s right up there with them.”

“And you.” Spoiler said. Batgirl smiled.

“Still a bit rusty, but I’m getting there.”

“How about Black Bat?” Huntress asked, speaking of Cassandra Cain.

“Only Lady Shiva is on HER level. Even Batman himself can’t best her in a direct fight.” Batgirl huffed, and they all turned their attention back to the men when Batman growled “Alright, that’s enough.” Everyone looked at him. “Where is Cardinal?”

“Hanging around.” Red Hood responded.

“… hanging from what?” Red Robin groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose as Robin snickered.

“Let’s go then.” Batman grumbled, his aggravation seeping into his tone; these kids would be the death of him.

Red Hood sighed and turned, heading across the rooftops.

“We’d better sit this one out, ladies.” Batgirl sighed. “Those boys get rough with each other and I don’t feel like playing Ref.”

“Right.” Huntress smirked. “I’m going home.”

“What about the victim?” Spoiler asked.

“I’ll decipher the clue.” Batgirl sighed.

“What IS the clue?” Nightwing called, and the others turned and looked at the women. Batgirl held it up.

“… A whiskey bottle.” Huntress observed.

“There’s something in it.” Batwoman pointed out. Batgirl opened the bottle and tipped it over, catching the object in her palm.

“Oh. Nice. It’s a joint.” Spoiler announced, a grin in her tone.

“That’s classy.” Huntress laughed.

“Oooh! Ooh! I know this one!” Spoiler cried. “Next victim is from Alabama!”

“How do you know?” Batgirl asked, looking baffled.

“A song.” Spoiler said. “By Kid Rock. ‘All Summer Long’.”

“Ohhhh…” Batgirl breathed, grinning and holding up the joint as she recited “And we were trying different things and we were smoking funny things.” 

Spoiler nodded, continuing. “Making love out by the lake to our favorite song; Sipping whiskey out the bottle, not thinking 'bout tomorrow, Singing 'Sweet Home Alabama' all summer long.”

“… Tt. How ridiculous.” Robin complained. “Let’s go find out what this idiot did to Cardinal.”

“Batgirl.” Batman said. “Find the next victim. FAST. And Huntress. Will you check on Rachel Avery since Cardinal never made it?””

“You got it.” Huntress nodded, watching Batgirl holding the joint up over her head when the Spoiler reached for it.

“Alright… let’s go.” Batman said, turning again. 

Red Hood led them across the city, heading north. “Not too far.” He called back over his shoulder.

“What DID you do to him?” Batman asked, giving him a look.

“Flash & Bang, popped him on the head and gassed him.” Red Hood said, casually. “You know… you COULD have told me that there was a new kid in the club.” Batman said nothing and the group leapt down from a larger building to land on the smaller on across the street, tucking and rolling before fluidly rising to their feet. The Red Hood removed his helmet and shot Batman a look through his lenses in his red domino mask. “… Your communication skills SUCK, Bruce.”

Batman just demanded “Where is he.”

Red Hood gave a disgusted sigh, set his helmet down on the rooftop and then said “Drake, Grayson, give me a hand.” 

Nightwing and Red Robin glanced at each other, then followed Red Hood across the roof. They clamored up onto a large concrete platform that served as the base for a radio tower. Red Hood began to climb the tower.

“You left him up THERE?” Red Robin groaned, locating the fluttering cape at the top of the tower, then heaved a harassed sigh and began to climb. Nightwing scaled the tower faster than anyone and was soon leaning in and taking Cardinal’s pulse. Cardinal was bound spread-eagle by his wrists and ankles to the inside of the tower framing with a piece of duct tape over his mouth, which Nightwing began to carefully peel away.

“You’re damn lucky he didn’t fight back…” Red Robin ground out through a clenched jaw as he began to cut through the "Duct tape?! Really?!" on Cardinal’s left ankle while Red Hood worked on the right. Nightwing, in the meantime, sprayed an aerosol into Cardinal’s face, and after a few moments, he stirred.

“… Oh my God, my HEAD…” came the groggy whine. “… I’m gonna fuckin’ kick his ass.”

“You can TRY.” Red Hood snorted and Cardinal slowly turned to glare at him, but then winced and closed his eyes.

“Where did he hit you?” Nightwing asked.

“Above the right ear.” Red Hood called as he got Cardinal’s ankle free, and he and Red Robin both moved up to work on his wrists. Nightwing ran his fingertips over Cardinal’s head, prodding gently as the teenager hissed. 

“Quite the bump ya got there.”

“Oh, thank you Captain Obvious… Whatever would I do without you to tell me these things?” Cardinal snarled, and Red Hood snickered slightly. “Oh fuck off. When I get loose I’m gonna shove my foot so far up your ass you’ll be picking your own shit out of your teeth!!!”

“… That’s disgusting.” Red Robin sighed, finally getting Cardinal free. Nightwing caught him with an arm around his chest when he dropped, and the four slowly made their way down to where Batman and Robin were waiting. Batman immediately moved in with some solvent to dissolve the adhesive on Cardinal’s mask, and once it was off he shone a light into his eyes.

“Does your head hurt?” Batman asked.

“Did you really just ask that?” Michael snapped back.

“Your eyes are unequally dilated… Are you dizzy or nauseous?”

“You could always just ask if I have a concussion.” Michael growled. “And I would have told you yes.”

“… I think I like this kid.” Red Hood laughed.

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Watch your mouth.” Batman said, sternly. “Hood… take him home.”

“What?! Why me?!

“Because you did it.” Batman said. “Nightwing, go with them.”

“Sure thing.” Nightwing grinned. “Come on.” And he watched as Robin and Red Robin followed Batman off to regroup with Batgirl and the others. “I’ll get the car. You two just get down to street level without killing each other.” And then he took off. This left Michael and the Red Hood staring at each other.

“… I will end you.” Michael growled, and the older man laughed.

“You’re just mad because I took you down so easily.”

“I wasn’t trying to fight back. I was TRYING to explain!”

“Next time, talk faster.” Red Hood shrugged, putting his helmet back on and heading for the edge of the roof. Michael glared, silently vowed revenge, and followed. But then Red Hood paused. “Oh. Here.” And he held up Michael’s two escrima. Michael narrowed hard amber eyes and glared, snatching them and tucking them into their scabbards on his back under his cape, resisting the urge to clock the Red Hood over the head.

“Let’s go, kid.” 

Michael looked at the Red Hood’s offered hand, and then gave him a look.

“Yeah. Right.”

“Oh, don’t be stubborn. There’s enough of that in this sad excuse for a family as it is.” And he grabbed Michael’s arm and jerked him off of the roof, laughing at the string of curses that Michael let out all the way down. “Oh, Alfred must LOVE your mouth.”

“He’s had no reason to HEAR it.” Michael spat, stumbling against the wall upon landing and holding his head. “Oh God, I really fuckin’ hate you…”

“Sticks and stones, kid.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Tell me something I don’t know! Ah! Here’s our ride!” And they looked up as Nightwing pulled up in Red Robin’s car. “I’ll let you take it from here, Dickie!”

“Like hell, Jase. IN.” Nightwing commanded. Red Hood sighed and rolled his eyes, climbing into the less than roomy back seat while Nightwing set Michael up in the front, passing him some pain pills.

“Is this really necessary?” Jason asked, removing his helmet again as they took off down the road.

“Bruce said you’re coming back to the house, so you’re coming back to the house.”

“Bruce is a jerk.”

“And you’re a douche.” Michael grumbled. Nightwing laughed.

“Jason Todd, meet Michael D’Ambrosio. Michael, this is Jason.”

“Yeah.” Michael spat. “Great.”

“You two I think will get along fine.”

“Yeah.” Jason snorted. “Great.”

Nightwing just grinned… He was quite sure that Michael and Jason would get along fine… provided they didn’t kill each other first…

________________________________________

 

Alfred was waiting in the Batcave when the RedBird pulled in. But as soon as the engine had been shut off, he could hear the shouting. Then Nightwing, Cardinal and Red Hood got out, and they were bickering like crazy.

“You are a fuckin’ douche!” Cardinal was shouting, stumbling a bit as he walked. He cringed and held his head.

“My GOD he has got a mouth on him, I love it!” Red Hood was laughing, tucking his helmet under his arm as he walked away from the RedBird.

“Don’t encourage him.” Nightwing laughed. “And Michael, Jason doesn’t need your encouragement either.”

“He’s an asshole!”

“We know that.” Dick replied, removing his mask.

“Oh, screw you, Grayson.”

“You are.”

“Hey Alfred.” Jason greeted. 

“Good evening…” Alfred said slowly. “May I ask WHAT is going on?”

“Oh, the new kid is having a little bitch fit because I handed him his ass.” Jason shrugged. Michael, who had just pulled off his cape and hood, whirled and advanced on Jason, eyes blazing as one of his father’s habits came roaring to the forefront; he went off in Italian.

“Si può baciare il mio culo si cazzo succhiare figlio di una cagna! Quando posso effettivamente vedere rettilineo ho intenzione di portare la abbattere su di voi così difficile, Ra’s Al Ghul si sentirà la prossima volta che ha la sua piccola sessione spa nel Lazarus Pit!”

Nightwing and Red Hood had gone silent, and were now staring at Cardinal.

“… I got… Ra’s Al Ghul and Lazarus Pit.” Nightwing said.

Red Hood nodded, and said “I think ‘cazzo’ means ‘fuck’…”

“Oh.” Nightwing said. Then, Red Hood seized Michael and tugged him in, giving him a noogie.

“He’s so CUTE!!!” Red Hood cooed. Michael nearly had a spaz.

“Ho intenzione di tagliare fino al centro come una trota e cala strada che dietro la Batmobile più di un miglio di vetri rotti, succo di limone, sale e sanguisughe. Se sopravvivi quel miglio lungo viaggio, ti cucio e faccio la mia cagna per il resto dei tuoi giorni a respirare!!!"

Dick grinned when Michael slugged Jason across the jaw, then nearly toppled over as he lost his balance, clutching his head.

“That is quite enough.” Alfred said sternly, steadying Michael and guiding him away. “It looks like you’ve seen more than your share of action this evening.”

“He has a concussion, Alfred.” Dick called as Jason wiggled his jaw and prodded at the area, wincing.

“Kid has a mean punch.” He finally said.

“His hand to hand and close combat abilities are just as good as any of ours.” Dick replied. “And you deserved it.”

“How?!”

“You didn’t give him the chance to explain!”

“Kid needs to learn to talk faster.” Jason shrugged, grabbing solvent to dissolve the adhesive keeping his mask on after Dick had finished with it. Michael fixed his golden eyes on Jason and just glared, as Alfred checked him over.

“Master Jason, please don’t get him upset.” Alfred sighed, helping Michael out of his boots and unbuckle his belts and gauntlets. Jason picked up one of the gauntlets and inspected it, looking quite interested. Michael picked up his escrima and raised it over Jason’s head.

“Whoa whoa whoa!” Dick laughed, lunging forward and stopping Michael mid-swing, taking the weapon from him. “Let’s not bash open his skull. He’s a jerk, but he doesn’t deserve that!”

“I beg to differ.” Michael snorted, and when Jason gave him a look, he said “Don’t touch my stuff.” 

Jason blinked, then looked at Dick, who grinned and said “don’t touch his stuff!”

“Oh fine, take HIS side.” Jason snorted, setting down the gauntlet.

“Hey, he’s my kid, I have to.” Dick shrugged.

“What?”

“Oh, we set it up so that I’m his legal guardian.” Dick said.

“Why YOU?”

“Because.” Dick replied, then walked away saying “I’m grabbing a shower. Come on, let Alfred help the kid.”

“Stop calling me ‘kid’!” Michael shouted after them. Alfred just sighed, saying “let’s get you upstairs and into bed. Your concussion seems minor.” Michael just nodded and finished getting out of his uniform and into a pair of jogging pants and headed upstairs. While he took a shower, Alfred got him a small bowl of soup and a grilled cheese sandwich, observed Michael eating, and then gave him some medications and put him to bed before he went to tackle the job of dealing with Dick and Jason…

________________________________________


	15. Noah

________________________________________

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

NOAH

________________________________________

Michael pretended not to hear the knocking on the door in the morning but Alfred had seen it all before and persisted, inviting himself inside and flinging opening the curtains with a cheerful “Rise and shine. Breakfast will be on the table for you in half an hour, and then I will drop you off for your Orientation when I take Master Bruce in to the office for his meeting.”

“… I don’t feel so good.”

“You feel fine.” Alfred stated firmly. “I suggest you get up if you want breakfast before you go. And you will not like it should I have to send one of the others to rouse you from your bed.”

And Michael groaned and heaved himself out of his bed, wincing and prodding at the knot on his head. He blinked his crusty eyes as Alfred cleared his throat, and he stared at the pill and glass of water being offered. “For your head,” the old man explained, understandingly. Michael sighed and popped the pill into his mouth, swallowing it down with some water before heading into the bathroom. Satisfied, Alfred left him to his own devices.

When Michael trudged into the kitchen, Bruce and Tim were already there nursing their coffee and eating the large plates of eggs, sausage and fruit. Michael sat down, biting back a yawn as Alfred set a plate down before him.

“Coffee?” He offered, and Michael shook his head.

“Mm… never liked the stuff, but thanks.” He said, and Alfred gave him a small glass of orange juice, and a larger glass of milk. Michael noted the nearly empty milk set before Tim. He ate his breakfast blankly, still feeling lethargic, though his head was feeling a bit better. 

After breakfast he was sent to brush his teeth and then he headed out to the garage. Alfred was standing by the car, a very plain, nondescript smaller limousine, holding the door open for him. Michael sighed and slid into the car, looking around at the fancy leather and feeling completely out of place; it was a lot fancier on the inside than its outward appearance belied. Bruce and Tim were already there, sitting side by side on the front facing bench seat at the back, quietly discussing business and looking over documents on their tablets. Both were dressed professionally in suits and ties, and Michael smiled slightly as he thought about the amusing paradox that these two made; mild mannered, boring rich boys playing ‘business man’ in the day, and some of the most bad ass vigilantes in the world at night.

Then he realized that he had been caught staring. Bruce stared back, then allowed a slight smile to tug at his lips and he winked at Michael, knowing just what the adolescent was thinking, before returning to his discussion with his adopted son.

“You left a copy of these for Alfred to give to Damian, right?” Bruce asked, suddenly.

“No, I emailed them to him.” Tim said as Alfred pulled the car out of the garage. “I know he’d gut me if I didn’t get them to him.”

“… He’s ten.” Michael pointed out. “Why would he care?”

“Damian was trained with all the skillsets it would take to run a country.” Bruce explained. “That means he’s also very well versed in business economics. While he can’t legally do anything in Wayne Enterprises, he keeps up with everything for the day that he can.”

“You mean the day he turns eighteen and moves in for a complete corporate takeover to force me out?” Tim asked.

“I doubt it will come to that. The two of you have already made progress. I hope that by then, you two will see the benefit of working TOGETHER.”

Tim just stared at Bruce with a deadpan expression. Bruce stared back for a moment, then merely offered a sheepish shrug, making Tim sigh and roll his eyes. Michael grinned in amusement.

Not long after, the car slowed to stop and Michael whined, “Do I have to?”

“Go.” Bruce commanded with a smile, and Tim grinned as Michael groaned loudly and dragged himself out of the car, storming towards the front doors of Gotham Heights High School, the letter placing him in 11th Grade clutched in his fist. “He’s acting like he’s going to prison.” Bruce said when Michael slammed the car door before Alfred could even get out.

“For a fifteen year old, it IS,” Tim announced. “At least he didn’t make a break for it.”

“He might yet,” Bruce suggested, then turned his attention back to his tablet.

“Well, he’s lucky. At his age, he should be a sophomore. He placed in as a Junior. His parents did a good job with his education. He’ll serve a sentence of only two years instead of three…” Tim pointed out, and Bruce chuckled.  
________________________________________

Michael followed the signs and overly perky cheerleaders to the Gotham Heights High School gymnasium and eyed all of the kids on the bleachers. Most of them were indeed younger, the new freshman, but there was a fair scattering of older kids as well. Grasping the railing, Michael began to heave himself up the steep stairs before finally settling in the top corner seat, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms over his stomach, propping one heel up on the bleacher seat before him and crossing the other leg over his knee.

The orientation began about ten minutes later, and it started out very much like the Pep Rallies that Michael had seen on television shows; it grated on his nerves. The cheerleaders were too bright and chipper for his tastes… the Freshmen looked either excited, scared, or just as pleased to be there as Michael was. The older new students appeared to be resigned to their fate. Off to the side was a group of older students just milling about, looking bored, chatting…

After what felt like a ridiculous amount of time during which the new students were told the history of the school, the reputation, the expectations from them as new students and how incredibly exciting their new school was (Michael yawned), the cheerleaders led them in singing the Alma Matter (Michael fixed the one cheerleader who looked at him expectantly with a glare that dared her to try and get him to join in) and the school Fight Song (Michael pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes as his head began to pound again), it was announced that the new students would be split up to take tours of the school. The freshmen were divided up, “Last names A-D with Melissa, E-H with Tanya, I-N with Brandon, O-S with Valerie and T-Z with Kristi”. The older students that had been milling about off the side all walked into the middle of the room, raising their hands as their name was called. “Sophomores, go with Kyle”, the cheerleader in charge called, once the Freshmen had been herded out. 

“Juniors with Noah”, Michael watched as a tall young man strode out onto the basketball court, lifting his arm in the air. He was about six feet tall, had a muscular physique and a tanned complexion with ethnic features that Michael couldn’t quite place. He was wearing an olive green wife beater over baggy, camouflage print cargo pants and khaki colored combat boots. What appeared to be a military jacket was tied around his waist and he wore a khaki colored button down shirt over the wife beater, hanging open with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hair nearly fell as long a Michael’s, almost down to his waist in long dreadlocks. Most of them were pulled back at the base of his neck, but a couple of the shorter ones fell onto his chest on either side of the military dog tags that hung there.

After inspecting him, Michael dragged himself to his feet and trudged heavily down the bleachers to join the other juniors with this guy while the very small handful of seniors went to join “Jared over there”. Up closer, Michael was able to see that Noah’s dreads, while mostly brown, were several different shades, and a couple of them even appeared to have some faded navy blue and olive dye left in them. Noah’s eyes swept the seven juniors (they were a very odd grayish green, Michael noted) and then gave them a casual smile.

“We’ll make this short and sweet.” He said, a faint accent in his voice. “And get you all into the library to sign up for you classes before the Freshmen do. Let’s go.” And he transferred his clipboard from the right hand to the left and led them out of the gym. “Once you enroll in your classes, there will be pizza out in the courtyard and representatives from the clubs and teams that the school offers, so we encourage you to look those over.”

“THAT sounded scripted.” One girl snorted, and Noah grinned.

“And it was. I have a confession… my girlfriend talked me into signing up as a volunteer for the Orientation… and then we broke up and it was too late to back out.” Noah laughed.

“Why’d you break up?” One guy asked, grinning at Noah’s predicament.

“She found out about my ex.”

“What about her?” The same guy asked, his grin widening as he anticipated a nice, juicy story. 

Noah turned and gave him a sly smirk, and said “well, for starters, she found out that my ex’s name is Anthony.”

Michael couldn’t bite back the wicked chuckle as the nosy guy’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped. A couple of the other kids with them looked awkward, but some others looked just as amused as Michael. Noah just chortled and led them further down the hall.

“We just left the boys’ gym, the girls’ gym is here. Down that way is the Music and theater wing… the School theater is that way, and so is the choir room, band room and orchestra room.” He turned a corner and they dutifully followed, passing the windows opening out onto a large courtyard where people were setting up the tables for the clubs and teams. “Cafeteria is this way, you can also eat lunch out in the courtyard. Down this way is the Art Wing, and the science and technology part of the school is just past the cafeteria and to the left.” They walked along further and announced “Right down there is the library, and this way would be the languages. The classrooms upstairs for the most part are for History, Math, and the other classes that don’t require special labs and stuff.”

“Do we get our own lockers?” One girl asked.

“We have to double up. Your locker-mate is randomly assigned, but they try to keep you in the same grade… I don’t use my locker… my locker mate tends to steal shit.”

“Oh, nice.” Another girl sighed, and Noah just laughed again. 

“Here’s the campus cop’s office, the main admin offices and the nurse’s office is in there. And that, my friends is the grand tour on speed, so let’s get you into the library before the Freshmen, and get your set for your classes so you get first dibs on the pizza.” And the kids all headed for the library. Michael just stood there and heaved a sigh.

“What’s up?” Noah asked.

“… Nothing.” Michael mumbled, trudging towards the library.

“Man, you have got to be the LEAST enthusiastic kid in this damn school right now.” Noah observed. “Where are you transferring from?”

“I was home schooled.”

“Why are you coming to school, then?”

“… I had to come to Gotham after my parents died.” Michael confessed.

“I see…” Noah said in a low tone. “When did you lose them?”

“Last October.” 

Noah nodded and said “Lost my dad two years ago.”

Michael looked up at him as they entered the library. “What happened?” He asked.

“Killed in action.” Noah told him. “In Iraq.”

“He was in the army?”

“Marines.” Noah corrected, smiling slightly. He grabbed the sleeve of his button down shirt and tugged it up further, showing Michael the tattoo on his bicep. It was the Marine Corps Seal with a date and a name.

“… Corporal Isaac Jacobs.” Michael read. “Aren’t you too young for a tattoo?”

Noah laughed at that and rolled his sleeve down again. “Yeah, I just turned seventeen. Mom let me get the tattoo after dad died when I turned sixteen. How old are you?”

“Sixteen next month.”

“You seem older.”

“So do you.” Michael shot back. 

“Must be the whole… losing a parent thing…” Noah shrugged. “How did you lose yours?” Michael was silent for a very long time, then said “home invasion gone bad,” and headed for the nearest open student advisor. Noah stared after him, then sighed and shook his head, pacing the perimeter of the library.

Michael dropped into a chair facing the woman on the other side of the table, whose name tag read ‘Shelly’, and she smiled at him. “Good morning. Last name?”

“D’Ambrosio.”

“… Hmmm… Michael?”

“Mm-hmm.” Michael nodded.

“Alright honey…” She said, typing away. “At your age you should be a sophomore, but it looks like you’ve tested in at an Eleventh Grade Level… with the exception of math... You’re reading at a college level and you’ve tested out of taking a Foreign Language. There are seven class periods in a day. Four of these will be your core classes, and three will be your electives. You’ll need a math, a science, a social studies class and a language arts. So why don’t we decide on those first?”

“Sure.” Michael mumbled.

“Okay… well, I think we’ll put you in the standard Algebra class… your math scores on the entrance exam weren’t too good.”

“I hate math.” Michael shrugged.

“Most kids do.” She nodded, looking a bit discouraged now. “Your standard options for a science are Chemistry, Physics and Biology. Your science score was quite good, so you also qualify for Geology or Astronomy.” Michael sighed and took the paper she offered him, reading over the descriptions of the courses. Immediately, his thoughts moved to ‘what would be of the most use to Cardinal?’, and then he was unable to stop the grin of amusement. Shelly blinked.

“I’m probably going to regret this…” Michael told her, handing her the paper back. “But let’s go for Chemistry.” And then thought to himself ‘at least Tim can help me if I need it...’ as he recalled Tim offering to help Superboy with his Chem homework way back when he was still stuck in that hospital bed in the Batcave.

“Okay, so I have you down for Algebra and Chemistry…” Shelly said, typing away. “We need to get you in a social studies…”

“World History sounds good.” Michael commented, looking over the papers before him. 

“You placed into an AP Language Arts.” Shelly continued.

“Fine.” Michael mumbled, looking over the Electives that were offered.

“Now, we need to get you into one of the Phys. Ed. Classes…” She said. “There’s Team Sports, Lifetime Sports, Weight Lifting, Field Sports…”

“Weight Lifting?”

“You usually work in the weight room on Monday, Wednesday and Friday, and then do other activities on Tuesday and Thursday.” She said.

“Sounds good to me.” Michael said, eyeing the descriptions for the other classes. Lifetime Sports was things like Golf, Tennis, Badminton and Archery… He had a feeling that Bruce would want him to stay away from archery in front of other kids, and the other sports just sounded boring. The Team Sports Class looked like it would focus more on Football and Basketball, which he didn’t enjoy, and Field Sports seemed like something else Bruce would want him to avoid…

Until he spotted—

“Actually… I’ll go with Gymnastics.”

Shelly sat back, looking surprised. Michael was even surprised. He knew Bruce wouldn’t want him to take that class, but what the hell… Michael loved it. He would just be careful to take it easy and not show off his full abilities. And besides… no matter what he took, he would have to get undressed in the locker rooms around other guys… there would be no hiding his physique, and for a kid his age, he was, so to speak, ripped. At least this would give him a plausible excuse for his toned muscles.

“Okay, so we have two more electives we need to get you into. Government and Economics are required for you to graduate. I’d recommend doing one this semester and one next semester. And then for your final class, a lot of boys go for Shop.”

“... Psychology sounds interesting…”

“Well, you’re ambitious.” She said. “Algebra, World History, Chemistry, Government, AP Language Arts, Gymnastics and Psychology.”

“Nice lineup.”

“AAH!” Michael yelped, jumping at the voice in his ear.

“Sorry,” Noah chuckled, straightening from where he had been leaning over Michael’s shoulder. “Gymnastics?”

“Since I was little.” Michael said.

“I’m taking World History and Chemistry this semester.” Noah said. “Coach Steele is teaching Chemistry, I’ve heard good things about him. And everyone knows that Mrs. Fredericks is the one to take World History with.” Michael just blinked, but Shelly started registering him for his classes.

“Don’t suppose you’re taking Algebra, too?” Michael asked with a smirk, and Noah chuckled.

“Nah. Calculus.”

“… why.” Michael asked, making a face. Noah grinned, snagging the chair with his foot and spinning it around, dropping onto it backwards and folding his arms on the back of the chair.

“Well, I’m a genius, aren’t I, Mrs. Schultz?” And he grinned at her and winked.

“Sure you are, Mr. Jacobs. Until you get to try to burn down Home Economics. Think you can come over and mow my lawn once more before school starts?”

Noah recoiled and clutched his chest over his heart with an “ooh… Ouch!”

“Now behave yourself or I’ll tell your mother.”

“Aw, man!” Noah whined with a grin, and at Michael’s questioning look, he said “Mrs. Schultz is my neighbor. She’s known me a long time.”

“Uh huh.” Shelly said with a smile. “Since he tore around the neighborhood like a hellion on his Big Wheels tricycle.”

Michael grinned at that, while a look of dismay came over Noah’s face, and then Michael snickered, “You took Home Ec?” 

Noah rolled his eyes. “My mom made me.”

“Awww… But now you can bake cupcakes and darn socks?” Michael teased.

“Oh, you and I are gonna need to step outside here in a minute…”

“Well, I’ll put you in those classes with Noah since you seem to be making friends…” Shelly said calmly, and Noah just sighed and rested his chin on his folded arms while Michael fought back a laugh. “Aaaand you’re all registered. Here is your schedule.” And it printed out and she handed it to Michael. Noah leaned over and looked at it. 

“Nice. We’ll have lunch together, too.”

“It’s a date.” Michael snorted, and Noah looked startled, then laughed.

“Not bad… uh, Michael.” He said, glancing at the name on the schedule. “Thanks Ms. Schultz.”

“Behave yourself, Noah.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Noah nodded, and he and Michael left the library. Noah led Michael to the courtyard and made a beeline for the pizzas. “Stuff your face, check out the clubs.”

“You in any of them?”

“Nah.” Noah said, making a face. “Not my thing. Catch up with you in a bit.” And he clapped Michael on the back and jogged across the courtyard to where a couple of kids his age had just appeared. They were obviously friends, and soon they had settled down on the large concrete steps that led up to the second floor.

Michael grabbed a slice of pizza (sausage and mushroom) and looked around at the tables with the clubs and teams. After he finished his pizza, he grabbed a second slice and began to wander and look at the different tables as more and more kids emerged, having signed up for their classes and eager for pizza.

The sports teams’ tables were soon mobbed… baseball, football and basketball. The Glee Club was off in the corner performing numbers that had been done on the television show, “GLEE” and were attracting quite an audience too as they launched into a performance of “Don’t Stop Believing”. 

Michael kept moving, drifting past tables and looking over things, having brief conversations with the club representatives and picking up the little brochures, though he doubted he’d be joining any of them; Mock Trial, Japanese Club, Spanish Club, Swim Team, Gymnastics Team (Oh, Bruce would be thrilled), Track Team, Culture Club, Student Council (yeah, right), Science Club… But eventually he just sat down with a third piece of pizza to wait for Dick to pick him up.

He turned his head when he heard the guitar. Noah was sitting with his friends on the stairs, and several of them had instruments. Noah and another guy had guitars, one guy was tapping away on the stair rail with his drum sticks, another had a small, travel sized electric keyboard, yet another had a box that Michael wasn’t able to identify, hooked up to his laptop.

Noah looked up then and grinned at Michael, waving him over. Michael blinked, then stood and wandered over.

“Michael.” Noah said. “This is Adam,” he jabbed thumb over his shoulder at the vividly bright red head with the drumsticks, who was now playing the “air drums” with earbuds in his ears and paying absolutely no attention to Noah and the new coming whatsoever. “This is Shannon,” a girl with auburn hair looked up and gave Michael a nod from where she was also hiding in her headphones, and was playing with sheet music. “Her twin brother, Collin,” Noah continued, and Collin, who was tuning his guitar, looked up and nodded, inspecting Michael through his shaggy white-blonde hair. The two guys on the keyboard and laptop were now watching expectantly. “This is Seth,” Noah introduced the brown haired boy with tan skin.

“Aloha.” Seth said with a grin. 

“And Caleb.” Noah finished, and the kid on the laptop nodded.

“Hi.” Michael nodded, eyes straying back to the guitar in Noah’s hands.

“You play?”

“… Used to.” Michael confessed, sitting down on the steps.

“Used to?” Noah asked.

“Yeah. I uh… I played with my dad. He taught me.”

A soft look overcame Noah’s face, and then he offered a gentle smile. “Me too. What kind? I prefer the bass myself…”

“Oh. Um… Acoustic.” Michael said. “It’s the only one I’ve ever even laid hands on.”

“Why don’t you play anymore?” Noah asked.

“I haven’t played since before my dad…” Michael mumbled.

“I play… and it helps me feel closer to my dad.” Noah told him.

“I don’t have a guitar. When my parents died everything was… lost.” Michael said. Noah eyed him, then picked up the acoustic guitar from the case beside him and held it out. Michael stared at it for a moment, then tentatively accepted it. Shannon and Adam removed their headphones, curious.

“… Go for it.” Noah said.

Michael stared at the instrument and ran his fingers over the polished wood, and then the strings, listening to their tones. He reached up and adjusted a couple, tuning it carefully, and then just sat there. After several long moments, a smile touched his lips and he played the first chord. Noah grinned immediately, recognizing the tune, and then took the bass from Collin, waited, and then struck up the complementing notes, making Michael look up with a smile.

“It’s all the same…” Michael sang. “Only the names will change, everyday it seems we’re wasting away… Another place where the faces are so cold. I’d drive all night just go get back home. I’m a cowboy. On a steel horse I ride; I’m wanted… dead or alive… Wanted.”

“Wanted…” Noah echoed in a deep baritone voice with a rough, throaty quality to it.

“Dead or alive…” Michael continued, now grinning widely. His fingers plucked at the strings in movements that felt alien, but oh so familiar… it had been nearly a year since he’d played, and hell… this had been one of his favorites things to play with his dad. Across the courtyard, the door swung open and Dick and Barbara stepped outside, looking around for Michael.

“Sometimes I sleep…” Noah picked up right where Theo D’Ambrosio used to. “Sometimes it’s not for days, and the people I meet always go their separate ways. Sometimes you tell the day by the bottle that you drink. And times when you’re alone all you do is think.”

Michael joined Noah then, as Shannon and Seth began to tap their feet and Collin lightly slapped his hand on his thigh while Adam started up with the air drums again. “I’m a cowboy…”

“On a steel horse I ride,” Michael sang along, “and I’m wanted…”

“Wanteeed!” Seth and Noah echoed (and Caleb mouthed along silently).

“Dead or alive… Wanted…”

“Wanted!” Noah echoed once more, and then the pair sang together, “Dead or alive…”

“And I walk these streets” Michael continued, not noticing Dick and Barbara watching and grinning from several yards away. “A loaded six string on my back. I play for keeps, ‘cause I might not make it back. 

“I’ve been everywhere, and I’m standing tall,” Noah continued, and then he and Michael continued together “I’ve seen a million faces,” and Collin, Shannon, Seth and Caleb all belted out “an’ I’ve rocked them all!!!”

“OWW!” Shouted someone from over at the German Club’s table.

“I’m a cowboy!” The whole group on the stairs chorused together. “On a steel horse I ride.”

And then the Glee Club representatives joined in from several tables away, grinning and waving at Shannon, who waved back. “I’m wanted--”

“WANTED!”

“--dead or alive!”

“I’m a cowboy, I got the night on my side!” Noah and Michael belted out, grinning at each other, “I’m wanted, dead or alive.”

“And I ride,” Michael sang, and Noah echoed, “and I ride” and then together with half of the courtyard, “dead or alive.”

“I still drive!”

“I still drive!”

“Dead or alive! Dead or alive… dead or alive… dead or alive…”

Cheers went up as the voices faded away and guitars finished it out, and then Michael came back to himself. He stared at the guitar in his hands, and at the grins of the kids on the stairs, staring at him. Across the courtyard, the Glee Club turned their music back on and continued with Bon Jovi, performing the mashup that the TV show had done of “It’s My Life” and “Confessions”.

“You’re pretty good.” Noah said to Michael, who had returned the guitar. “Nice voice… very Bryan Adams meets Kenny Loggins.”

“Samuel Larsen.” Shannon grinned, and the boys all groaned.

“Again with the GLEE show…” Adam complained, rolling his eyes and putting his earbuds back into his ears. Shannon gave him a look.

“Hm…” Was all Michael said. “So… do you all have a band?”

“No. We just all like music.” Noah said. “Adam is in a band, and so is Collin. Shannon is a Drama student, in Glee Club—“

“Show Choir!”

“-- and usually takes part in the school musicals. Caleb likes to write music, but isn’t much for actually performing. How about you? Were you in a band?”

“Uh, no… Well, kind of…” Michael said slowly. “I mean… me and my… cousins would get together and…”

“Family thing. Cool.” Noah nodded with a grin.

“Yeah… it uh… it was…” Michael sighed.

“Michael?” He turned and smiled as Dick walked over. “Ready?”

“Yeah. I think so.” Michael nodded, standing. “It was nice to meet you guys.” And the boys all smiled and waved, while Shannon headed over to the Glee Club table, greeting the other kids there with familiarity.

“See you when school starts.” Noah grinned and Michael smiled back.

“Sure thing. And uh… thanks for…” He gestured to the guitar.

“I understand completely, man.” Noah said with a nod, and patted the acoustic guitar. “This uh… this was my dad’s.” 

“Thank you.” Michael said again, then waved and followed Dick and Barbara.

“I didn’t know you played.” Dick said.

“Dad taught me.” Michael said shortly. Dick and Barbara shared a glance over Michael’s head, and Dick pulled out his phone and started tapping away, sending Tim a text.


	16. What is Family

“… Gymnastics?!” Blurted Bruce Wayne, staring at Michael’s schedule. “We need to keep a low profile, Michael!”

“Your point?” Michael asked, crossing his arms and leaning back in the chair before Bruce’s desk. Dick was standing behind him and Barbara was sitting in the other chair. “Look… I’m pretty toned. You can tell just by looking at me that I’m an athlete. And guys ask each other… ‘what do you do to get abs like that?’ and shit… This way, I have an answer. And believe it or not, if there’s a CLASS for it, there has to be a good number of other kids who do it, too. I’ll just be one more, and if it makes you feel any better, I promise to hold back.”

Bruce scowled at him and opened his mouth to speak, but Tim beat him to it.

“Let him, Bruce.” He said from where he stood leaning against the mantle.

“What?” Bruce blurted, and Jason and Damian, who were both perched on the windowsill, glanced at one another.

“When I was in school, I wanted to join the tennis team. And you shut me down.”

“Any of you boys being in athletics is—“

“It’s a CLASS.” Tim said, “not the gymnastics team.”

“Actually… I was thinking about joining that, too.” Michael announced with a grin.

“Michael, shut up.” Tim said firmly. “Bruce, he won’t need a physical for a class.”

“Absolutely not.” Bruce growled. “What about all the bruises and injuries he’ll get at night?”

“A phys ed class is required.” Michael shrugged. “At some point, I’ll be undressing in the locker rooms and my injuries will be seen. No matter WHAT class I sign up for.”

“He has a point, Bruce.” Dick said.

“Of course, you could always pull me and just let me continue with home schooling.” Michael offered, hopefully. 

“Dream on, kid.” Jason sniggered.

“Bite me.” Michael shot back, glaring. Bruce stared at Michael, and sighed.

“… Alright.” He said with a nod.

“Yes!” Michael hissed, grinning in satisfaction. 

“Just… be careful. Do NOT let them see how good you are.”

“Of course not.” Michael assured him.

“Well, now that that’s resolved…” Dick said. “I got you a present.”

“Huh?” Michael asked, and Tim snorted “You mean you sent me to pick up a present.”

“Thanks for that, Timbo.” Dick said, ignoring the glare from his surrogate little brother as he hurried to the window and reached behind the curtain beside Damian… and he pulled out a guitar case.

“What the hell is that?” Damian asked, and Michael sat up straight, eyes wide.

“When we picked up Michael, he was playing with some other kids.” Dick said. “So I called Tim. Apparently… Michael used to play with his dad.” And he handed Michael the case.

Michael took it with wide eyes.

“I… I can’t…” He gasped. “I can’t accept this!”

“Michael…” Bruce spoke up. “Anything that helps you keep your father close, is something worth having.” Michael stared at him, and then around at the others in the room. Dick, Tim and even Jason had looks on their faces identical to Bruce. “I have my father’s company…” Bruce said. “And the philanthropy that he believed in.”

“I have my acrobatics.” Dick nodded. “Using what he taught me, him and my mother both… it lets me keep part of them alive. They fly with me every time I’m out there.”

“I never shared anything like that with my parents.” Tim said. “My dad tried to be there for me later in life, but… he and I never had anything that we bonded over.”

“Me neither.” Jason added. 

“You’re lucky.” Tim told Michael. Barbara placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled at him. Michael nodded, took a deep breath and opened the case. It was an acoustic guitar, black and red. A deep, blood red. Michael set the case down on Bruce’s desk, and lifted the instrument from its velvet covered padding, resting it on his knee and running his fingers down the strings.

“You can really play that thing?” Damian asked.

“It’s been a while, but… yeah.” Michael nodded.

“Let’s hear it.” Dick said with a grin, and Michael turned red.

“Oh… No, I… I’m not really used to… performing. I mean… earlier today was… well…”

“Come on.” Tim encouraged.

“… Don’t be such a wuss.” Damian snorted and Michael gave him a look, then turned and plucked at the strings, frowning and beginning to tune the instrument. Then he sat there for a long time, eyes distant and glazed. After a while he lowered his head, closed his eyes for a moment, and then plucked out the first five notes, before striking a chord. Tim, Dick, and Jason perked up in recognition.

He played for a bit, just letting the music flow, and a little over a minute later, he sang, soft and tentative.

“So… So you think you can tell, heaven from hell? Blue skies from pain? Can you tell a green field, from a cold steel rail? A smile from a veil? Do you think you can tell… did they get you trade your heroes for ghosts? Hot ashes for trees? Hot air for a cool breeze? Cold comfort for change? Did you exchange a walk on part in a war for a lead role in a cage?”

Barbara was smiling as Michael continued to play, and Bruce was leaned back in his chair, legs crossed and eyes staring off into the distance. Dick was tapping his foot and nodding his head slightly with the beat, and Jason was drumming his fingers on his knee, lips slightly moving as he mouthed the lyrics silently. Tim was leaning against the mantle again, head down and eyes closed. Damian just studied Michael’s fingers in mild interest as they moved on their familiar paths over the strings.

“How I wish, How I wish you were here. We’re just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl year after year, running over the same old ground. What have we found? The same old fears. Wish you were here…”

“You’re pretty good.” Jason admitted after a few moments of silence.

“Give HIM the riddle instead of the computer.” Damian said, suddenly.

“Huh?” Michael asked.

“… Not two minutes before you walked in,” Bruce said suddenly, sitting up again, “Kate sent us this.”

“Batwoman?” Michael asked, standing and crowding around the desk with the group as Bruce showed them his tablet. On it was the picture of a scrap of paper. And on it was a single bar of music.

“You read music, right?” Damian asked.

“Yeah…” Michael nodded.

“Then go for it.” Bruce said, turning the tablet around and showing it to Michael, who examined it and placed his fingers on the strings.

“Wait…” Michael said. “I know that… Hell, EVERYONE knows this!!! It’s an old classic!” And he began to pluck out the notes. And sure enough, the others recognized it. Barbara sang the lyrics with Michael… 

“There is a house in New Orleans, they call the Rising Sun.” Dick nodded, speaking the lyrics aloud as Michael and Barbara sang them. “And it’s been the ruin of many a poor boy, and God, I know I’m one.” 

“The Riddler’s next target is from New Orleans.” Tim stated. “I’ll get on it.” And he strode from the room.

“Michael, come here.” Bruce said, standing. Michael put the guitar back into the case and approached. Bruce took his chin in his fingers and lifted his head, moving his hand back and forth to block the sunlight from Michael’s eyes, one after the other. “Hm… I want you to stay in tonight, just to be safe. Rest. And as long as you’re looking okay tomorrow, you can go back out again.”

Michael blinked and scowled, then leaned to the side and glared around Bruce’s arm.

“… You suck.” He said, and Jason’s eyebrows shot up. Dick just laughed, and Barbara grinned. Bruce chuckled and pat Michael’s shoulder, then left the room.

Dick smiled at the disappointed look on Michael’s face, then said “come on. I have another present for you.” Michael eyed him, but shouldered the guitar case and followed. Dick led him out to the garage and headed over to the section where the motorcycles were kept. He grabbed a tarp and whipped it away, revealing a gleaming machine of black and silver. 

A look of horror crossed Michael’s face and he shook his head saying “Dick, no… you… you’ve already done so much for me. All of you! I can’t accept this!”

“Michael,” Dick sighed. “We’re all well off. Not just Bruce. Granted, most of these things come from him, but on paper, you’re MY kid now.” He gripped Michael’s shoulder. “You’re turning sixteen next month, and you’re going to want your own way around. And if it helps, it’s not new. It’s one of mine.” Dick approached the bike with a grin. “It’s a 1998 Suzuki Katana 750… With some major TLC and upgrades, it’s better than it was when it came off of the line. We’ll even take this baby in to get a custom paint job, if you want.”

“Upgrades?” Michael asked eagerly.

“Not that kind.” Jason chuckled from where he was leaning against the wall. “That one is street legal.”

“We’ll get you your own for your night life.” Dick said with a wink. “Probably a Kawasaki Ninja model.” Dick said thoughtfully. “I’ll check some out, and once we have it in the cave, you will help me with it so that you can learn your own machine.”

“He’s not gonna get a car?” Jason asked.

“Eventually.” Dick nodded. “But we know he can ride a bike.”

“You know I can drive a car, too. It’s how I got from Bludhaven to Gotham,” Michael snorted, and Dick laughed.

“True. But have you ever actually had instruction on driving? Aside from what we’ve taught you here?”

“… No,” Michael admitted.

“We’ll teach you to drive. And not just a regular car, but one of OUR cars. Once you can handle the Batmobile, you’ll get your own car.”

“That’s not a car. That’s a tank with a fighter jet engine,” Michael snorted, and Dick and Jason grinned.

“More advanced than that, actually,” Dick snickered. “We’ll let you take the bike out tomorrow. But for now, let’s review what you learned a couple of weeks ago.” And Dick, Michael and even Jason knelt down and started going over all of the parts of the bike together, the two elder teaching the younger about the machine.

They stayed at it, looking not just at the 1998 Katana, but several other bikes, both newer, and older. It was nearly eight in the evening before Alfred collected them, Jason looking quite surprised. Apparently, he had planned to leave hours earlier. Dick silently thought it was time well spent, because they had gotten through the entire afternoon without Michael taking a swing at Jason, and Jason didn’t really do much to bait him, either. Dick was relieved; the last thing he needed was for Michael and Jason to be constantly at each other’s throats like Tim and Damian were.

“Wow…” Dick said as they all sat down at the dinner table. “This is the first time the whole family has been here.” 

Bruce blinked and raised his eyes, then looked over the five young men at the table with him; Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian and Michael.

“Awww… he’s actually smiling!” Tim pointed out.

“Tt… what sentimental crap.” Damian grumbled, rolling his eyes.

“Family isn’t ‘crap’, Damian,” Bruce scolded. “It’s what keeps us strong.”

“… I concur with the kid,” Jason groaned, taking his turn to roll his eyes.

“You’d think that for a room full of people who HAVE no family, you would value what you DO have more,” Michael snorted, glaring at Jason and Damian. “When my family was slaughtered and I ran, I never even considered the thought that I might have a new family some day.”

“Maybe that’s why…” Tim said. “When I lost my family, I was already a part of this one. And the Titans…”

“I know what Michael means.” Dick said. “When my parents died and I had to be removed from the circus, I lost my family and was taken away from what was like my extended family. And I wondered if I would ever feel at home again.”

“And I never thought I would have a family, either.” Bruce admitted. “Especially when I became Batman. I thought a family would be a mistake.”

Damian and Jason were silent as Alfred began to serve them their dinner, saying “family is thicker than blood.”

“But you’re NOT family.” Damian argued with a frown. “No one here is related, other than father and myself.”

“It’s not about blood, Damian.” Bruce said. “It’s who you love, who you trust, and who is there for you.”

“My biological mother betrayed me to the Joker…” Jason said in a low, rough tone. “She was my blood, but she wasn’t my family.”

“And your grandfather tried to transplant his soul into your body, virtually killing you.” Tim said to Damian. “Is that family?” Damian gave Tim a look.

“That’s enough.” Bruce said, firmly. “Everyone at this table is family.”

Towards the end of the meal, Bruce got down to business. “Damian will ride with me tonight,” he announced. “Tim, take Jason back into the city.” Tim nodded. “Dick, you and Barbara get together tonight. Michael… you man the cave.”

“Huh?”

“Stand by the computers,” Tim explained, “and gather information if we call in for it.”

“What if I can’t?”

“Don’t worry. This is on the job training. No one expects perfection right off the bat.” Bruce assured him. “Learn by doing. You can do whatever you want down there, research, use the training grounds, just as long as you respond when we call in.”

“No watching porn.” Jason told him. “You WILL get busted.”

“Only YOU would be dumb enough to do that.” Damian snorted.

“Why do you think he mentioned it?” Dick asked, biting back laughter. “He WAS dumb enough to do it!” Jason glared, and Dick deflected Jason’s punch with a rather unmanly giggle. 

“Enough,” Bruce said sternly, laying down his fork and resting his napkin beside his plate, rising. He others did the same, Tim shoving one more forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth and hurriedly wiping his face as he followed the others.

Michael watched the group suit up and head out, leaving him alone in the cave, staring at the massive super computers. Eventually he stopped staring awkwardly and began to wander, exploring the nooks and crannies of the cave. He spent a while on the training mats with his custom weapons, playing around with ways to use them in combination, transitioning between their four forms in different ways. He poked around with one of the older, partially disassembled BatBikes that was being worked on, inspecting the pieces and mentally putting them into place on the bike. The custom pieces designed for the purposes of the vigilante riders required further inspecting and a lot of thought and creativity, but it gave him a lot of ideas for when he would get his own. 

It was nearly midnight when a call came in. Michael scrambled to the computer, wiping his hands on his jeans (Alfred would have a fit when he did the laundry) and accepted the call. The video view was of the inside of the Batmobile. Batman was sitting in the driver’s seat, and Red Robin in the passenger seat. Sitting along the roof with their feet dangling into the cab were Robin and Red Hood. Batgirl was leaning over the side of the car beside Red Robin, and Nightwing doing the same on the other side near Batman.

“Well… there’s a family picture if I ever saw one.” Michael found himself blurting, and heard laughter from beyond the camera’s view. Red Robin, Batgirl and Nightwing all grinned, and Red Robin shushed the laughing woman off camera; Michael suspected Spoiler.

“You have something on your face,” Robin observed. 

“Huh?” Michael asked. 

“Forehead.” Robin told him, and Michael swiped a hand over it.

“Oh… grease… I was looking at that bike you guys are working on.”

“Feel free to continue the disassembly if you want,” Batman said. “We have another riddle. Some kind of code. We’ve tried to decipher it ourselves but the answers aren’t making sense. Run it through the computer.” And a file came in. Michael opened it, chewed his lip and frowned as he tried to remember what to do. He felt his nerves pick up as they watched him.

“… Cat’s Don’t Dance?” He asked. “The computer seems to like that decoded answer…”

“We came up with that, but it means nothing to us… We don’t know what that means.” Batgirl said.

“It has to have something to do with a song.” Red Robin reminded Michael, who was tapping away.

“Okay… uh… there was apparently an animated movie a while back called ‘Cat’s Don’t Dance’… it was about a cat who wanted to make it big in Hollywood… and… there’s a song about Hollywood… could that be the reference to a place of origin for the next victim?”

“God knows we don’t go spending our days off watching animated Disney Classics…” Nightwing pointed out. “Riddler would have expected us to be thrown by this one…”

“Speak for yourself,” Spoiler called.

“It’s not Disney.” Michael said, looking over the information.

“It’s obscure enough to be what the Riddler had intended…” Red Robin said thoughtfully. “Check the convention for people from Hollywood.”

“Okay…” Michael nodded, typing away. “Um… a lot from California in general… a good dozen from Los Angeles… but only ONE that really has a connection to Hollywood. Works there, but lives out further…”

“Name?” Batman asked.

“Warren Holitzer.” Michael said. “Staying at the Sheraton… room… 1245.” Immediately, Batgirl and Nightwing disappeared from view.

“Keep going over the code. See if there are any other possibilities.” Batman ordered, and the connection was terminated.

Michael did as he was told, and the computer decoded the message in several different ways, but each resulting message made less sense than the last. There were no detectable links to any songs that might indicate a location. Michael spent the next couple of hours disassembling the motorcycle, and nothing else came in. When the Batmobile rolled in at 4am, Michael was curled up in the large chair before the computer, dozing. The roar of the engine woke him and he winced as he stretched out, his back popping. Paranoid, he glanced at the computer to make sure that he hadn’t missed anything.

“Nothing else on that code,” He said as Batman swept towards him.

“The Hollywood clue was right.” Batman said. “Holitzer was gone, but we were right behind them. He hadn’t been gone long. Dick figured out the next riddle and was able to move on it right away. He got there in time.”

“The Riddler?” Michael asked, eagerly.

“Wasn’t there. But we got to the victim in time, have two of Riddler’s men in police custody, and got the next clue. Right now, we need to figure out how to FIND the Riddler. I’m done playing his games.”

“What does he want with these guys?” Michael asked.

“Noting good.” Batman told him. “They’re all technology experts. The possibilities are terrifying, and endless…”

“The convention ends in a couple of days…” Michael pointed out.

“Yes. Odds are, his end game will come then…” Batman said, scowling. “Tim has found out that some of the guests are finding out and skipping town. Once we decode this latest clue, I’m sending some of you in. The Riddler may start taking chances. I need some of you at the convention.”

“YES!” Michael exploded, and Bruce slowly turned to look at him as he pulled off his cowl. 

“You’ll go in with Tim.”

“When?!”

“… Ten in the morning. Better get some sleep.”

“You got it! Night!” Michael called, and disappeared up the stairs. Bruce smiled and shook his head, and went to get showered.


	17. Riddle Me This

Two young men approached the front doors of the convention hall, ID cards hanging around their necks. One read ‘Angelo Cipriani’, and the other ‘Alvin Draper’. As they set foot on the floor, the younger was looking around eagerly.

“… Ooh! Ubisoft!” 

“Hey hey, cool your jets…” Tim laughed, catching Michael by the back of the t-shirt. “We’re here on business!”

“But… it’s the maker of ‘Assassin’s Creed’!!!”

“Wait wait wait… a defector of the League of Assassins plays a game called ‘Assassin’s Creed’?” Tim asked, a bemused expression on his face.

“… It’s a good game!” Michael whined. “Ooh! HALO!”

“Slow down. We’re here to WORK.” Tim reminded him and Michael drooped, but nodded and gave Tim his attention. “The last Riddle led us to someone from Chicago. We have a good dozen of them. But Barbara found another connection… All the victims have worked on games that involved puzzle and riddles… And that led us to one man from Chicago. Zach Aldrich. Our job is to locate him and watch him. Covertly.”

“Right,” Michael nodded, rubbing his eye.

“Stop that.”

“The contacts are driving me crazy!” Michael complained, blinking his eyes furiously. Tim grinned. 

“The disguise is necessary, you’ll get used to them.”

“Hmph. I don’t look good with blue eyes anyway.”

“You look fine, you’re just not used to seeing yourself with blue eyes,” Tim said with a smile. “If it helps, I hate having stubble.” And he scratched his chin and neck, which he hadn’t shaved.

“… Even with the stubble you still look like jailbait,” Michael snickered, and then laughed as he had to duck Tim’s playful backhanded swing.

“You’re a little jerk!” Tim cried, before returning his focus to the room. “… We totally could have come in uniform and still blended in…”

“… CosPlay,” Michael informed him with a grin. “I’ve always wanted to do it…”

“CosPlay?”

“Costume Play. They’re dressed like video game characters. Some are from animes… That’s—“

“I know what anime is,” Tim assured him as they moved further into the convention, eyeing a group of people who looked like Tolkien elves. “Come on… Zach Adlrich’s booth should be this way… He works on contract with different companies. He’s not bound to any single one of them, so he’s here looking for work, too, probably… He’s not a big name, but he’s good at what he does.”

“Any idea what the Riddler wants with these guys?” Michael asked, giving Tim a look when the older boy smacked his arm as he went to rub at his eyes again.

“We can only guess.” Tim told him, his fake earring catching the light as he turned his head and looked around, running a hand through his hair, which was greasy and slicked back, making him look less like a young CEO and more like a wanna-be-hood from the tough streets of Crime Alley. Mixed with his jeans, worn, torn and stained, his faded Gotham Knights t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off and the fake tattoo on his right bicep, he had a very effective disguise. Michael hadn’t braided his hair that morning (or even brushed it)… he had simply gathered it up and tied it back at the base of his skull, and then tied a band around it every six inches or so. It looked messy and unkempt (Michael’s mother would have had a fit) which went with his less than new clothes. They had been some of Tim’s old clothes that he had outgrown and just left in the back of his closet, so they were quite wrinkled. The jeans were faded and had old grass stains on the knees, and the t-shirt was for an old skate park that had closed; there were grease stains on it as Tim had worn it while working on his car at one point.

“There,” Tim said suddenly, and Michael followed his gaze. There was a young man, about Jason’s age, sitting at a table and chatting with a couple of other men. “That’s Zach Aldrich.” Tim continued.

“So now what. We just stand and stare at him?” Michael asked, quirking a brow.

“No.” Tim said with a look of amusement. “We don’t want to catch his attention, or the attention of anyone else who might be watching. We mingle. Check out the convention. But one of us needs to have him within our line of sight at all times. So I’ll tell you what. I’ll hang out in this area down here for a bit. You head across the hall. Enjoy the con, check out what you want to check out, but check in frequently, and watch for ANYTHING suspicious. If it looks like anyone is watching you, watching me, watching Zach, alert me. And watch for anything that could have something to do with the Riddler. You know the faces of some of the men he’s worked with,”

“Went over them all again last night,” Michael assured Tim.

“Pay attention to question marks… especially if they’re green or purple…”

“Right,” Michael nodded.

“Be ready to move at any time, but keep your head down and don’t stand out.”

“We’re not CosPlaying, we’re good,” Michael snorted.

“You know what I mean,” Tim chided, and Michael nodded. “And Michael… don’t go buying a bunch of souvenirs?”

“Why? Bruce gave me a credit card!”

“A bag of stuff—“

“Swag.”

“—Whatever—could get in the way if we need to make a move.”

“Fine…” Michael sighed heavily, rolling his eyes.

Tim just nodded, and the pair separated. Michael began to prowl the perimeter of the room, trying to focus on his job without allowing his excitement to take over. Most of the people at the convention were in groups, and moved throughout the event space together, chatting away. They were pointing out things, running this way and that, showing one another some purchase that they were excited about. A few were settled against the walls, sitting down and taking a break, having a snack, some appeared to be napping. A handful of security guards prowled much as Michael was, and he was sure to keep his head down and turn away from them and towards a booth or exhibit when they passed. 

Many times his eyes were caught by an amazing costume (or just a sexy revealing one), and he couldn’t help but duck into a large booth belonging to professional CosPlayers who custom made costumes for people. Michael found himself peeking out the corner just to spot check Tim before trying on a Jedi Robe for the hell of it, and then wondering if they shipped their costumes… turned out, they did. Michael had to walk away very quickly before he put that credit card to use, but he took a business card.

And then, he saw the familiar faces. Walking up the row of tables towards him was the Senior from Gotham Heights High School; Noah Jacobs. He was in a group of several friends, and they were all laughing and talking just like every other group in the con. Michael turned his back and bent over a table to look over some collector’s figurines of popular video game characters as Noah and his friends passed by, loudly talking about Rooster Teeth and “Red VS Blue”.

But then, he heard the slightly nasal “oof! Watch where you’re going!” Michael froze, then turned…. he'd heard that voice before, from recorded interviews during his training. His wide eyes fixed on Noah, who was eyeing someone before him, looking slightly taken aback.

“Sorry, man…” He said slowly, sounding slightly peeved himself. The man he had bumped into shoved past and hurried up the length of the room with long strides. He was wearing a simple, nondescript suit, but had vibrant red hair. Michael wasn’t sure, but that may have been…

He took a deep breath and moved to tail the man, while Noah and his friends continued on their way in the opposite direction, fumbling for the phone in his pocket. He sent Tim a text, ‘may have something’. Michael moved fluidly through the crowd, his eyes on that bright red hair. And sure enough, the man was headed towards Zach Aldrich’s table. Michael glanced down when his phone buzzed and Tim asked ‘what is it?’

‘Not sure yet. Red head to your 5,’ Michael texted back, and saw Tim turn. Tim’s eyes swept the crowd, but Michael knew that Tim had spotted the man, and knew that he was right, when Tim’s eyes narrowed and became hard and cold… focused. Instantly, he had transformed into Red Robin. Michael’s phone buzzed again, and this time it was a call. 

“Yeah.”

“Get out.” Tim ordered. “Call the others and suit up. Blend in with the CosPlay crowd. I’m going to tail him and do what I can to keep him away from Aldrich without being noticed.”

“Want me to bring you your gear?”

“Yeah. Pass it off when you come in.”

“Got it.” Michael said, turning and running for the doors. He dodged past a Cloud and Sephiroth having a mock duel for numerous fans and cameras and made his way to the parking garage, unlocking the blue Range Rover and snatching the two back packs before charging towards a door marked ‘Maintenance Only’. He jimmied the lock and slipped inside, then jammed the door to the maintenance room closed, ignoring the roar of the machinery behind him as he jerked off his shirt and kicked off his shoes, before unbuttoning his jeans and letting them fall to the floor as he jerked open the backpack. Ten minutes later, and he was fully changed into his uniform, hair tightly braided, and was cracking the door open and looking around to make sure the parking garage was empty before he slipped out and darted across the garage to head back to the convention to get Tim his backup… and his uniform.

“Cool costume!” He heard someone call as he breezed by, holding his cell phone to his ear as he was heading towards where he had left Tim. 

“Michael.” He hear Bruce’s deep voice answer.

“We have eyes on Nigma, and Aldrich.” Cardinal announced without prologue. “I’m about to pass off Red Robin’s gear for him to suit up, and he’ll be back here in a couple of minutes.”

“Right. Just watch Nigma and Aldrich. Keep your distance. Don’t let them out of your sight and don’t make a move unless it’s absolutely necessary. I’m on my way. Alert me immediately if anything changes.” 

“Yes sir.” Cardinal said, eyes sweeping the crowd and locating Aldrich, Nigma and Tim, who turned his head slightly and then began walking towards Cardinal, but never actually looking at him. Cardinal dropped the back pack between two tables as he walked by, and then when he and Tim passed each other, their fingers brushed as a piece of paper was passed between them. Then Tim retrieved the backpack as he walked by and Cardinal read the note.

‘Watch Nigma. Watch Aldrich. Do NOT let him out of your sight. Don’t make a move unless you have to. I’ll contact as soon as I get my mask radio online.’

Cardinal smiled as Tim’s words echoed Bruce’s, then tucked the note into his belt and nodded to himself, tapping his mask to make sure that his own radio was functioning. Then he turned his eyes onto Zach Aldrich, and two tables down… Edward Nigma. The Riddler. He was looking over information at that booth, but his bright green eyes kept darting towards Aldrich. But then, he twitched and lifted his eyes and looked at Cardinal. Cardinal didn’t move. He stood there and stared right back, not that Nigma could see his eyes behind the lenses in his mask. The Riddler looked confused for a moment, obviously not recognizing Cardinal, but was suspicious of him regardless. 

Then a large group of people walked by and Cardinal allowed himself to disappear as they passed, moving with them and behind them to get to another vantage point. He saw the Riddler’s eyes widen and dart around, trying to locate him again without success. Then he turned and stepped away from the table, pulling out his cell phone. He moved across the aisle to another booth, his back to Aldrich. Cardinal stood at the end of the row, leaning against one of the room’s support columns as he watched the Riddler, and Aldrich. 

A moment later, and the radio in his mask crackled to life.

“Anything?” Red Robin asked. 

“He’s nervous. He spotted me, but looked like he didn’t know what to think. I think he was suspicious, but with all the cosplayers around, thought he was overreacting.”

“He’s never seen or heard of you. No one has. That will work to our advantage. But stay out of sight. If he notices you tailing him…”

“Right. Where are you?”

“I’m getting a higher view.” Red Robin said, and Cardinal raised his eyes to scan the railing of the second floor, which gave a view of the main convention floor. He spotted Red Robin at the far corner. “I see Nigma. He’s heading your way. Away from Aldrich.”

“Do I tail Nigma or stay with Aldrich?” Cardinal asked, tensing.

“Stay put, we’ll see what Nigma is doing…” Red Robin told him. “As long as I have them both in my sights, we’re good. Is the boss on his way?”

“Affirmative.” Cardinal said, slowly stalking further down the row of tables, tailing the Riddler from one aisle over.

“Good.” Red Robin said, then suddenly shouted “They’re moving on Aldrich! STOP THEM!”

Cardinal bolted out of his calm stroll and was hurtling the table before him, darting through the open area between aisles that the booths were using for storage, and had landed on the next table top before the crowd finally reacted. Two men at the table with Zach Aldrich turned, pulling guns. There were screams as people ran or hit the floor, but Cardinal was already making his own move. He pressed the pads of his fingers to the plates on the gold band on his right thigh, and the mechanism activated, three golden colored darts, stylized to look like feathers, popped out and into his waiting fingers. As he leapt off of the table he was already throwing them with the right hand, and pulling his weapon from the scabbard on his back with his left.

The two men with the guns howled in pain as the needle sharp tip of the darts sunk into their hand, and they dropped their guns. By the time they hand their hands on the darts to pull them from their flesh, it was too late. With an audible crack, Cardinal brought his escrima across the back of the taller man’s head, sending him crashing to the ground with a concussion, and then brought the other down with a spinning heel kick to the jaw.

“Are you alright?” He asked, turning to a stunned Zach Aldrich.

“NIGMA!!!” All heads in the convention hall turned as Red Robin swooped overhead, cape extended for his glide. Cardinal whirled, eyes trying to locate the Riddler. “Stay with Aldrich!” Red Robin shouted as he hit the ground, rolled, and bolted through a door labeled ‘STAFF ONLY’.

Cardinal turned and grabbed Aldrich’s wrist and said “We need to get out of the open and to someplace more secure.” And he tugged him away from the table.

“I don’t understand!” Aldrich shouted, sounding angry and confused. “What’s going on? Who ARE you?!”

“We’ll have coffee and talk later; MOVE!!!” Cardinal commanded as the security guards arrived and looked over the two men that Cardinal had put down on the floor. “There may be more of them!”

“Is this about those people who have been going missing?” Aldrich asked, now jogging after Cardinal, who kept tugging on his arm to make him move faster. 

“Yes, now will you move?!” The frustrated teenager barked out in exasperation.

“I need police protection!” The man howled, starting to slow down. “Not some… superhero wannabe kid in tights!”

“It’s Kevlar and body armor, not tights, now keep moving!” Cardinal growled.

“… Are you Robin?”

“What? No!”

“Nightwing?”

“No!”

“… Batgirl?”

“I was told to keep an eye on you…” Cardinal snarled, glaring back at the obnoxious smirk on Alrich’s face. “No one said anything about not hurting you...” And he raised his fist threateningly.

“You’re bluffing,” Aldrich guffawed, until Cardinal got way up in his face.

“… Try me,” the teenager hissed. “Now shut up and move your ass!”

Aldrich did so, a more than sour look on his face as he glared at the back of the kid’s head. They burst out the front doors of the convention hall and Cardinal looked around, wondering where the hell he was supposed to take the jerk that he was still holding by the arm. Then there was screaming, and the squealing of tires at the end of the block. A black van came careening up the street, and Red Robin seemed to be riding on the top. The van swerved right and left, nearly missing several pedestrians as the driver tried to shake their rider.

“Is THAT Robin?!” Aldrich yipped, his voice comically high pitched in his shock. 

“RED Robin,” Cardinal corrected, raising his hand with three fresh feather darts in them. Then he shoved Aldrich back against the wall, ordered “STAY PUT,” and ran into the street to get a clear of the screaming, hysterical people running about. Then he stuck his fingers into his mouth and gave a loud, shrill whistle. And the moment he knew that Red Robin had seen him, he flung the shuriken. Once bounced off of the bumper, but the other two sunk into the tire, which blew out as its rotation to the ground forced them further into the thing. Red Robin kicked off of the roof and arched through the air in a graceful, well practiced flip, landing lightly as the van spun around, falling onto its side and skidding across the street before coming to stop where Cardinal had been standing. 

Cardinal, once he was sure that there was no one in the van’s path, had retreated back to Aldrich, who he had virtually pinned against the wall. Sirens could be heard as police arrived to respond to the 911 calls of armed gunmen at the convention.

“Everyone get inside, now!” Red Robin shouted at the top of his lungs, trying to be heard over the crowd. The first man was crawling out of the van now, and he was armed.

“Plan?” Cardinal called, deferring to the veteran.

“Batman should still be five to ten minutes out!” Red Robin called back.

“Batman? You actually work for Batman?!” Aldrich blurted. “YOU?!”

“Shut up,” Cardinal responded, still looking to Red Robin. “Cops?”

“Gordon will work with us,” Red Robin called back. “But anyone else, and there will be friction. We need to end this fast. Stay on Aldrich!” And Red Robin charged as the stumbling man finally raised a gun. Red Robin leapt into the air, slamming the man’s shoulder with a vicious sidekick that dislocated the joint and sent him crashing down to the ground on his back. Cardinal frowned when one of the back windows of the van shattered and another man started crawling out.

“Got a second out the back!” He called as a third popped up out of the driver’s window with an automatic. “Shit… Down!” Cardinal cursed, and tackled Aldrich to the ground, laying half on top of him and half in front of him, praying that his body armor did his job, and that he didn’t take a bullet to the head… he did NOT want to die for this prick…

“The other one!” Aldrich yelped, and Cardinal twisted about to look. The man who had gotten out of the back also had an automatic weapon, though he seemed to be having trouble standing upright. Red Robin had taken a dive through the windshield and was grappling with the gunman inside the cab of the vehicle. Cardinal felt a shock of horror jolt through his system when four shots went off.

“… Fuck!” He spat, leaping to his feet and running at the stumbling gunman as he raised the weapon. The GCPD finally appeared, squad cars screeching around the corner and coming to an abrupt stop just as Cardinal reached out and grabbed the automatic from the man. The man snarled at him but didn’t let go, and just shoved back. Baring his teeth aggressively, Cardinal staggered back until he slammed into the van, and the man moved the barrel length of the gun up against his throat, more than ready to crush it.

“Drop your weapons and put your hands into the air!” Came the shout of a woman over a police bullhorn.

Cardinal just grunted as he braced himself, then slammed his knee into the man’s groin, making him gasp and double over in pain, losing his grip on his weapon. Cardinal maintained his hold on it and jerked it to the side, slamming the butt of the gun into the side of the man’s head, and then bringing his elbow back across his jaw, snapping his head back the other way. The man stumbled back, cross-eyed, and Cardinal threw a forceful front kick into the man’s solar plexus, sending him flying back. He crashed onto the ground where he lay, dazed and groaning. 

Cardinal unloaded the weapon with practiced hands and dropped it on the ground as he strode over, knelt beside the man, and then punched him square in the face, before rolling him over, jerking his arms behind him and securing him with flex cuffs. He made sure that Aldrich was still where he had left him, and then he ran back to the van, heart pounding. But as he got there, he exhaled and felt his knees go weak in relief as Red Robin climbed out of the driver’s side window, saying “Give me a hand.”

Cardinal leapt up onto the side of the van that was now facing the sky, and helped his companion drag out the third man, who was also restrained in flex cuffs and looked less than aware of his surroundings. The police were moving in now, securing the man that Red Robin had taken out in the beginning.

“Aldrich?” Red Robin asked as he handed over his own prisoner, while Cardinal’s was already being dragged towards an ambulance.

“Sitting over there like a chicken shit.” Cardinal snorted, turning to look at the man. “May have wet himself.” Red Robin gave him a baffled look. “… He’s a dick!”

“… Okay.” Red Robin said slowly, then turned to meet the approaching officer in charge, while Cardinal reluctantly returned to his post beside Aldrich, who just gaped at him. Cardinal crossed his arms and glared at Aldrich.

“… You’re welcome.” He spat.

“Who… who is after me?” Aldrich gasped.

“The Riddler.”

“What?! Why?!”

“How the hell am I supposed to know?! Now shut up and be patient.”

“What are we waiting for?”

“God, just shut up!”

“No! You can’t just drop a bomb on me like that and then expect me to just sit quietly!” Aldrich snapped. Cardinal grit his teeth, counted to five, and then said “No hablo Engles.” Aldrich glared.

A moment later, Red Robin walked over to them with two officers. “Mr. Aldrich. These officers are taking you into protective custody.” 

“And?” The man asked.

“The Riddler’s gone, isn’t he?” Cardinal asked, ignoring Aldrich.

“Yes.” Red Robin said, turning and pulling his grappling line. “He was never in the van…”

“What will he do now?” Cardinal asked, pulling his own. “Try for Aldrich again or go for another target?”

“I don’t know.” Red Robin confessed, ignoring Aldrich furiously shouting at them for not telling him anything as he was led away by the police. “Wow. He’s obnoxious.”

“I think we should have let Riddler have the prick. He could have annoyed him instead.” Cardinal snorted and Red Robin snickered slightly, firing off his grapple.

Soon enough, the pair found themselves perched on the top of the Sheraton Hotel, staring down at the streets surrounding the convention hall.

“Are you out in the daylight often in costume?” Cardinal asked.

“More than Batman is.” Red Robin nodded.

“… What’s our next move?” Cardinal asked.

“We have to wait for Nigma to make a move.” Came the gravelly voice from behind them. Cardinal jumped, but Red Robin just calmly turned and looked at Batman. “Good job keeping Aldrich safe.” Cardinal blinked, realizing that Batman was addressing him specifically, and he nodded his thanks. “The police are taking him into protective custody, but I want you to shadow him.”

“Huh?” Cardinal blurted, looking horrified. 

“Something wrong?” Batman asked, and Red Robin grinned.

“Cardinal and Aldrich did NOT hit it off…”

“… You don’t have to be his buddy.” Batman said, his mouth twitching. “I just want you to watch the place he’ll be staying.”

“And that is?”

“Head to GCPD. Gordon will let you know. I’ve told him to expect you.” Batman ordered. “If there’s any sign of trouble, you call for backup and stay out of it until the backup arrives.” 

“Alright.” Cardinal nodded, turning and diving off of the building, his jump line in hand. Red Robin and Batman watched him go.

“Where’s his cape?” Batman asked. 

“Hell if I know. Maybe he just left it behind to save time?”

“Hnh. Come on. We need to see if the Riddler left any clues as to who he may be going after next…”

“Right.” Red Robin nodded, and the pair dropped off of the roof and headed back to the convention hall.


	18. The Church

When Cardinal arrived at GCPD, he scurried along the length of the ledge until he reached the Commissioner’s window. It was open. Cardinal stared at it for a moment. It had surely been left open for him, but it just seemed rude to barge in.

Commissioner Gordon was startled, to say the least, at the tentative little knock on his window. When he turned he found the new kid, Cardinal, crouched on the ledge.

“… Are you coming in?” Gordon asked, amused. Cardinal nodded and slipped in. “Never had any of you guys knock before.”

“Well… my mother taught me better manners, I guess.” Cardinal said in a muted tone. Gordon could tell that he was a bit nervous, and he smiled.

“It’s good to know that you made it.” Gordon told him, moving back to his desk. “We were afraid that your wounds were too…”

“We?” Cardinal asked.

“Detective Bullock was on the roof that night with me.”

“I see.” Cardinal nodded, frowning. “I… Think I remember him there… It’s all kind of a blur…”

“You were already suffering from blood loss when we arrived.” Gordon recalled. “Well, either way… good to see you’re well. But you’re here for the address of where we’re keeping Zach Aldrich.”

“I am,” Cardinal nodded. Gordon stared at him for a moment, then leaned over his desk and scribbled something on a scrap of paper, and passed it over. Cardinal accepted it. “Will your officers know that I’ll be there?”

“They know that someone will be watching.” Gordon nodded.

“Alright.” Cardinal nodded, reading the address and then slipping out the window. Gordon moved to the glass and peered out, watching Cardinal scamper up a cable wire spanning between the GCPD and the building next door, nimble as a little spider monkey, with more skill and confidence than the tightrope walkers that Gordon had seen in the circus. He smiled as it made him think of Nightwing, back when he was Robin. This Cardinal wasn’t on the first Robin’s level, but he was pretty damn good, and fearless to boot…

“Where the hell does Batman find these kids?” Gordon chuckled to himself, closing the window and returning to his work.

\--------------------------------------

 

Cardinal sat in the dark shadows of his perch where he had been hiding all day, watching the room where Zach Aldrich was being kept. He had one earbud in his ear and was listening to music on PANDORA to keep himself somewhat entertained, though he never stopped listening to the sounds of the city with his other ear. It had been a very long time since he had just sat and listened to his surroundings, taking it all in. And this was the first time he had done so in Gotham…

He wasn’t very high up, so he could hear the traffic below, the wind howling around the buildings and the occasional raised voice from the streets below. Every now and then, he also heard his stomach growl and gurgle… When a call came in, he was quick to answer.

“Yeah.”

“It’s Nightwing. I’m on my way to relieve you.”

“Oh God, please don’t say it like that,” Cardinal groaned.

“Huh? Why?”

“Because I really, REALLY have to pee!”

Nightwing chuckled in response, and said “I’ll be there soon. Hang tight.”

“Easy for him to say,” Cardinal muttered to himself, glancing up at the dark clouds rolling in from the east. “It’s not like I can just waltz into the nearest convenience store to use the bathroom in this getup… no one ever told me what to do when I have to go while suited out…”

And so when Nightwing arrived, Cardinal posed this question, and was more than miffed when Nightwing grinned and told him to figure it out himself. Cardinal sent him a dirty look and went on his way, heading for the nearest safe house that he recalled. It was in the back of a dirty old alley behind a closed down butcher shop. There was an rather rusty fuse box on the wall. He opened it up, and flipped five of the breakers. When he did, a light blinked on and there was a high hum as a green laser passed down his body, scanning him.

“Identity Unknown. Please state your identity.” The electronic voice told him.

“Cardinal.” He responded. There was a pause, and the voice said “Unrecognized.”

“What?!” Cardinal howled. “Oh, come on! I gotta go!”

“State identity and personal pass phrase.”

“Pass phrase?! What pass phrase?!”

“Invalid response. Defense protocol initiated.”

“Wait, what?! No! No no no no no… That’s not necessary…” Cardinal groaned, backing away. A moment later, thick plumes of smoke began to billow out of the grate just below the breaker panel. “Oh crap!” Cardinal blurted, and ran. He moved through the back alleys, wrinkling his nose at the putrid stench of the rotting garbage in the sticky heat of the evening. But when he passed by the streets as he continued to move through the alleys, fresh wind thick with the smell of rain wafted over him, cooling his face as distant thunder rolled overhead. 

Then he found himself staring across the street at a larch church. St. Joan’s Catholic Church. The side door was propped open, eager for a breeze to enter the old building. Cardinal glanced around at the empty street, then darted across and slipped into the dark corridor, the lenses in his mask quickly adjusting to allow him to see perfectly in what little light there was. He looked around and then ghosted off down the hall, appreciating how well the wind carried to keep the place semi-cool. To his relief, a bathroom was found quickly, and was blessedly empty.

Afterwards, when Cardinal was prodding the slowly shrinking knot on the side of his head where Jason Todd had bashed him in the skull with his own weapon, a distant sound caught his attention. He paused, turned away from the bathroom mirror and moved out into the hall that had gotten darker as the sun began to set, and the clouds outside grew thicker. He heard the sound of breaking glass, and frowning, he moved towards it. As he continued to move he heard voices. One was loud and angry… intimidating. The other sounded like it was pleading, but it was very calm and gentle. 

His frown deepening, Cardinal turned the corner and found himself staring at the large, elegantly carved wooden doors to the sanctuary. It was an old, gothic cathedral with vaulted ceilings, buttresses and stained glass. At the end of the sanctuary before the altar and pulpit, was a group of men. Several were in suits, a couple were in jeans. On his knees in their midst was a middle aged man, hands out in passive plea, eyes sad and earnest. He wore the simple cassock of Catholic Priest.

He was staring up at the eldest man in the group, and was shaking his head. “You know that I cannot do that,” He was saying. “The Sanctity of the Confessional is absolute. The police cannot compel me to tell what I have heard, and nor shall you.”

Cardinal felt the righteous fury flare up when the man back handed the priest and barked, “I already know what was said, Father! I just want to know who said it!”

“I cannot!” The priest cried.

“… Then turn the other cheek.” Snarled the cruel man, raising his hand again. The priest passively closed his eyes, interlacing his fingers before himself. But his eyes flew open again at the furiously snapped words that echoed from the back of the sanctuary.

“Don’t… You… Dare…”

The priest turned, as did the men who had accosted him. A young man stood in the doorway, feet apart and knees slightly bent, showing that he was more than ready for action. But he was shaking in rage… his entire body was tense, his fists were clenched and his jaw was tight as he grit his teeth.

“… Who the hell are you?” Sneered the man who had struck the priest, as his associates closed ranks around him.

“Who I am doesn’t matter.” Said the stranger, and the priest was shocked at the youth he heard in the voice. He peered between the men standing around him and watched as the masked boy slowly stepped into the sanctuary. He reached out and dipped his fingers into the basin of Holy Water, and then, kneeling, touched his forehead, chest and shoulders, Crossing himself. He rose to his feet again and strode towards the men.

“This is no place for you, boy.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Cardinal said lightly, raising his hands and slowly turning in a circle. “I thought that the church was open to all who believe in Him.” He faced the men once more. “I highly doubt that it welcomes those who abuse priests.” He lowered his hands and curled them into fists once more as he snarled “Get out.”

The man laughed and began to walk towards Cardinal.

“You got guts, kid.” He said with a grin. “I don’t know who you are, or what you’re doing here—“

“To be honest, I was just looking for a bathroom.” Cardinal stated bluntly. The man just looked startled, now. “What? Even Superman has to take a Superpiss from time to time.” Cardinal quipped, then winced and mumbled “Sorry, Father,” glancing apologetically at the priest, whose eyebrows shot up.

“You’re just another wannabe.” The man snorted, still approaching, his hand slipping into his coat. “And you’re gonna get yourself killed. You’re in way over your head here… so I suggest that you get going before your mom grounds you for being late to dinner.”

He was standing before Cardinal now, looking down at him. Cardinal stared back, then slowly cocked his head.

“Huh… I know you now… The Rogaine’s working.”

“… What?” The man blurted.

“David Fabiano.” Cardinal stated, and Fabiano’s eyes widened in shock. “You work for Baptiste. You’ve lost a bit of weight, grown some hair and gotten Botox, but I recognize you, now. Your mother would be ashamed.”

“Don’t you talk about my mother!”

“You’re standing right in front of the ALTAR in a CATHOLIC CHURCH, beating up a PRIEST for not telling you about something that was said in CONFESSION.” Cardinal said loudly, enunciating the specifically religious terms. “You were raised Roman Catholic, right? Tua madre deve essere rotolando nella tomba.”

There was a moment’s pause and then Fabiano whipped his hand out of his jacket, a gun in his fist. The priest cried out in horror, but the boy moved quick as a whip. His hand darted out and seized Fabiano’s wrist, twisting it sharply as he spun closer to the man, snapping his knee up and burying it into the man’s gut. The gun clattered across the floor and Fabiano dropped to his knees, retching. The half dozen men surrounding the priest pulled their guns and trained them on Cardinal. But the young man just wrapped an arm around Fabiano’s neck and jerked him up, holding him tightly before him.

“Don’t shoot!” Fabiano cried, eyes wide in fear as he stared at all of the guns.

“Father…” Cardinal said. “I would get up and get out of the way if I were you…”

The priest’s mouth opened and closed a times, but he stumbled to his feet and backed away, one hand over his mouth, the other clutching the crucifix hanging from his neck. The other men in the meantime were advancing on Cardinal, who was backing away with Fabiano.

“Tell them to drop their weapons…” Cardinal hissed.

“You’re going to die!” Fabiano spat back. Cardinal just drew one of his escrima and held it out before Fabiano’s face, clicking the red bird and feeling the man jump when the golden blade snapped out. Cardinal then moved to hold it to Fabiano’s throat.

“Want to reconsider?” He asked. Fabiano was trembling now.

“Y-You wouldn’t… The Batman and the others don’t kill!”

“Who says I’m one of them?” Cardinal chuckled, wickedly. “Maybe I’m with the Red Hood… Are you really willing to call me on this? Are you REALLY willing to risk your life on the hope that I’m just bluffing?”

“… Drop your guns!” Fabiano wailed and slowly, glancing at each other, his henchmen did as he told them.

“Kick them up under the pews.” Cardinal barked, and at a nod from Fabiano, they did. As soon as they had done so, Cardinal released Fabiano, spinning around the man’s body and throwing an elbow back into his face. The other men dove to recover their guns, but Cardinal was fast. 

The priest only saw flashes of gold in the air before several men stumbled back, howling and clutching at their hands which had what appeared to be golden blades sticking out of them. The boy was running up the length of the church on the backs of the pews, leaping and flipping about to place himself near a man and take him down with a strike or two.

“Now I’ve got you, you little…” Fabiano snarled, stumbling to his feet. The priest shouted a warning, but the gunshot cracked through the air as the boy darted in front of him.

“AARGH!” Cardinal cried out, stumbling back and clutching his chest, and then falling back to the steps leading up to the altar. The priest hurried over, eyes wide in horror. Fabiano and the one man who wasn’t unconscious, ran towards them as well.

“Make sure he’s dead.” Fabiano snapped, and the priest moved between the mobsters and the boy on the steps.

“Let him be! I’ll not allow you to murder a child in the House of God!”

“Then God can help him himself.” Fabiano snarled, holding his handkerchief to his bleeding nose.

“God helps those who help themselves…” Came the derisive laugh, and Cardinal flashed past the priest and tackled the henchman to the floor, tearing a scream from the man as he twisted the wrist of the hand holding the gun until it snapped, and then slammed the man’s head into the stone floor, knocking him out cold. Cardinal then got to his feet and advanced on Fabiano, staggering slightly.

“… There’s no blood…” Fabiano gasped, staring at the bullet hole just under Cardinal’s left pectoral muscle. Then, Cardinal raised the gun he had taken from the last man, and Fabiano paled.

“DON’T!” The priest shouted, and the shot rang out. Fabiano screamed and collapsed to the ground, clutching his arm.

“BASTARDO!!! You shot me!”

“Oh, suck it up, I only grazed you. Just feel lucky that I don’t believe in ‘an eye for an eye’… or you would be drowning in your own blood.” Cardinal growled, shoving the man back to the floor and tugging off his belt, using it as a tourniquet, and then binding him with flex cuffs. Then he turned and approached the priest.

“Are you hurt, Father?” The man slowly shook his head, eyes wide and mouth open in shock. “Good… call the police to pick them up…” And he swept his eyes over the men scattered through the sanctuary. “I’m sorry for the violence in this place.”

“You saved my life.” The priest said softly. “You are more than forgiven. Thank you… Are… you alright?”

“Fine… I’ll be… fine…” Cardinal mumbled, just before his knees buckled. The priest gasped and caught him before he hit the floor, staring intently at the grimace on the boy’s face and the way he was clutching his skull. Then he whimpered in the back of his throat slightly.

“You’re not fine…” The priest said firmly.

“Concussion…” Cardinal groaned. “Couple of days ago.”

“You hit your head when you fell just then?”

“Yeah…”

“You need to lie down,” the priest told him, tugging Cardinal’s arm behind his neck and helping him to his feet. “ Come… we’ll get you to the rectory.” And the pair made their way up the length of the sanctuary, which now seemed infinitely long to Cardinal as his adrenaline rush began to wear off… 

They moved out into the courtyard, and Cardinal blinked his eyes rapidly, staring at the place. He saw white stone faces, staring at him, judging him, and winced in discomfort. He heard the splashing of water off in the distance, and a melodic laugh. Then he was stumbling again and the priest paused, waiting for him to get his bearings. He heard the man off in the distance, assuring him that they were almost there. And then there was the creaking of an old door and it was dark, soothing the pounding behind his straining eyes. A cold wall against his back… the jingling of keys and the unlocking of a door. And then hands on his arms, the world was spinning and a softness under him as he was laid down on his back. And then the world spiraled into a quiet darkness as he let out a final mumble of "he's gonna be so pissed..."

The priest stared down at Cardinal on the bed in one of the unused cells in the rectory.

“Father Daniel?” Came a voice from behind him, and he turned to look at the young priest, who looked alarmed.

“Leave him be, Brother Thomas.” He said and strode out of the cell, closing the door and locking it behind him. “He needs to rest.”

“But who is he?” Asked the young man in his 20’s, just recently joined.

“… A friend.” Father Daniel said. “Brother, an Oath of silence on this. He protected me and our church from gangsters tonight. And so we will protect him. I have to call the police and they will speak with us. Do NOT mention the boy. Not until we know more of who he is. For now, we grant him Sanctuary.” The other priest nodded and Father Daniel moved to walk away, but paused and glanced back at Brother Thomas over his shoulder, saying, “Do NOT tell the other Brothers. But please get them into the sanctuary to tend to the men in there. They came here without peace in their hearts, but we will show them God’s love, regardless. At least until the police take them into custody...”

“Yes, Father.” Thomas said, and watched Father Daniel head back to the church and to his office, where he picked up the phone and dialed 911…

\---------------------------------

Nightwing fumbled for his phone when it rang.

“Y’ello!” He drawled.

“Is Cardinal with you?” Came the rough voice.

“… Noooo…” Nightwing said slowly, drawing out the word. “Sent him on his way a couple of hours ago. Is he not home?”

“No.” Batman replied. “No word, and he’s not responding to our attempts to reach him. Where did he go?”

“I don’t know. I came to relieve him, he said he had to pee. I assumed he was heading home.” Nightwing said, unfolding from his crouched position. “Crap. I never even considered that he had no transportation…”

“… Nnh…” Batman grunted. “A safe house near there had an unsuccessful access attempt. I’ll check there first, and then I’ll turn on his GPS tracker.”

“Let me know as soon as you find him.” Nightwing said, his voice tense, and his answer was Batman terminating the call.

The Batmobile was pulling to a stop a few blocks from the safe house nine minutes later, and Batman strode up to the fuse box, flipped eight fuses and then said “Batman Override. Pass Phrase ‘the white raven falls from the sky’.”

"Override accepted," Chirped the voice, and the grate on the alley floor slid back to reveal a narrow staircase. Batman descended and it closed up again. The safe house was empty, but upon reviewing the security footage, Batman watched Cardinal try to gain access. He huffed slightly in frustration at himself and quickly worked to authorize Cardinal entrance to the place, having the computer save the body scan and voice imprint it had recorded to its data base of approved allies, and left it with a protocol to establish a pass phrase next time Cardinal was at the safe house, after confirming his identity with a fingerprint. Then, Batman activated the GPS secured into Cardinal’s suit and left the safe house, determined to track the kid down…

To his surprise, Cardinal wasn’t far; only a few blocks away. He tracked the signal and was mildly confused to find the signal coming from St. Joan’s Catholic Church. There were several GCPD squad cars out front, lights flashing. A side door was propped open and Batman stepped inside just as the soft patter of rain reached his ears; the edges of the storm had finally reached the city, bringing its predicted several inches of rain over the next couple of days. 

Batman moved down the dark corridor, relying on the starlight lenses in his mask to help him see. He heard voices coming from a doorway ahead of him. A warm light was casting a glow through the hallway, but was obscured a moment later by none other than Detective Harvey Bullock.

“Let us know if you need anything else, Father.” He was saying, sounding annoyed. “Or if you REMEMBER anything else…” And he held up what appeared to be a little golden feather; one of Cardinal’s shuriken, designed by Nightwing. “HEY!” Bullock howled as Batman reached out of the darkness and plucked the thing from the detective’s fingers.

“That’s material evidence, Bats!”

“It belongs to an ally.” Batman said calmly. “One that will not make it into your report.”

“Is’at so?” Bullock demanded, glaring at Batman with his hands firmly planted on his hips. Batman didn’t move. He didn’t say a word. He just stared. “Aaah…” Bullock finally groaned, turning his back and dismissing Batman with a wave of his hand. “Damned pointy-eared freak… Alright boys! Let’s get outta here! I want Fabiano in lock up ASAP!!! We got him good this time, let’s make sure the charges stick!”

“We can’t put him in lockup, sir!” Batman heard another cop say. “He needs a hospital!”

“It’s just his arm, he’ll live…” Bullock griped, and then words were lost as the cops got further away. Batman turned and stepped into the office then, staring at the priest, who was staring back in astonishment. Then he held up the little feather dart.

“… Where is he.”

“I don’t know what—“

“Cardinal.” Batman interrupted. “He was supposed to be home hours ago. The GPS in his uniform led me here. Where is he.”

“… He works for you?” The priest asked, slowly moving out from behind the desk.

“He’s… in training.” Batman admitted. If this priest was lying to the cops, and withholding information to possibly protect Cardinal, then he could be trusted. And Batman also knew this man by reputation. Father Daniel Valerio was the head of the church, and much beloved in the community. He had a brave soul, and wasn’t afraid to speak out against the organized crime in the area. Needless to say, the mob had no love for him, but until that evening, had never tried anything against him, or the church… Batman had a feeling that if Fabiano didn’t go down under the law, he would go down under his own boss, for assaulting a priest in the church. Even the mob was full of religious men; Fabiano was agnostic, despite his strict Catholic upbringing.

The priest was still staring at Batman, then nodded and strode from the room. Batman followed. The priest’s heart was pounding. He glanced behind himself once, but saw nothing. He heard nothing. But he KNEW that Batman was behind him. He stepped out into the little courtyard and into the rain, which was still a light drizzle. It ran down the faces of the white marble statues of the ArchAngels positioned around the central fountain in the four corners of the cardinal directions; Michael to the south, Uriel to the North, Raphael to the East and Gabriel to the West. The priest moved through the center of the courtyard, under the gazes of stone angels and skirting about the fountain in the center, which was topped with a glorious ascending dove. Batman followed, not minding the rain. Once at the door to the rectory, the priest paused and looked back. 

“Wait a moment. Let me make sure that the other brothers are not in the corridors. Needless to say, they are concerned. And… I don’t think that your friend will be able to walk out of here on his own.”

“Is he injured?” Batman asked.

The priest just looked amazed, now. “He was shot in the chest protecting me, but did not bleed!” He gasped. “But when he fell he hit his head. He said that he already had a concussion.”

“Hnh... Any loss of consciousness?”

The priest nodded, noticing the thinning of the Dark Knight’s lips. He sighed and slipped through the door, and sure enough, several priests were milling about, chattering excitedly.

“Gossip is unbecoming, Brothers.” Father Daniel chided, and they immediately descended upon him, begging answers to their questions. Why had the mob invaded the church and attacked Father Daniel? What did they want? And who had saved him…?

Batman chose that moment to enter the corridor, and as expected, his appearance brought immediate silence. The priests stared, wide eyed and slack jawed. Father Daniel merely sighed and accepted Batman’s decision to reveal himself to the others and walked to the first cell, unlocking it and opening the door. Batman followed him in and the priests all gathered around the door, still in their stunned silence and staring at Batman, and now Cardinal. Batman tugged off a glove and pressed it to Cardinal’s throat, then pulled a small bottle from his belt and held it under the teenager’s nose. The reaction was almost immediate. Cardinal was roused, making a face and turning his head away with a groan.

“Is the world spinning?” Batman asked.

“Oh God…” Cardinal groaned. “Thanks for pointing it out.”

“How many fingers?” He asked, holding up one finger.

“Ten, like always. But you have four pointy ears.”

“At least your sarcasm is intact…” Batman muttered, then raised his hand and lightly touched his mask. “I’ve got him. He’s aggravated his concussion, but he’s fine.”

“Smack him for me.” Nightwing responded.

“For what?” Cardinal mumbled.

“For worrying him.” Batman responded. “Can you get up?”

“… I can try.” Cardinal said, not sounding very confident. Batman and the priest both moved to either side and helped him sit up, the boy groaning loudly as he did so.

“Come on. The car is only a few blocks from here.”

“Blocks?!” Cardinal whined in horror. Batman paused, then pulled a little gadget from his belt, tapped a few keys and then tucked it away again, saying, “It will be right outside in a moment.”

“… Okay.” Cardinal murmured, allowing Batman to help him stagger to his feet. But after only a couple of steps, he let out a pained whine and his legs buckled. Batman immediately lifted him up off of the ground with an arm under his knees and shoulders, and strode out the door, the priests scattering to make way. As he headed to the door, father Daniel silently moved past him and opened it for him, saying “Tell him thank you for me.”

Batman stared at the priest for a moment, then said “Thank you for safely hiding him.” The priest nodded, and then he and the others watched as Batman disappeared into the shadows across the courtyard. Then Father Daniel closed the door to the rectory. There was a moment of silence, and then the other priests exploded into questioning him again…


	19. Trauma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for delays! I was out of the country for over a month and it's been crazy since I got back, too! The muse has been fickle...

“No, I mean let him sleep himself out.” Was the first thing that Michael comprehended upon awakening from his sleep. “He needs rest. I don’t want him out of that bed for a couple of days. And no action out in the city for a week. You never should have let him go out there with a concussion in the first place.”

Ah. It was Dr. Thompkins.

“He wasn’t supposed to be doing anything strenuous, Leslie.” Dick argued.

“And yet he ended up in a church facing down a gag of thugs.” The woman pointed out.

“What was he even DOING there?” Tim asked.

“… looking for a bathroom.” Michael groaned, and everyone turned as he finally opened his amber eyes.

“You’re awake!” Dick cheered.

“A bathroom?” Damian scoffed. “Seriously?!”

“I had to pee… And the safe house didn’t like me.”

“My fault.” Bruce admitted. “That’s been rectified. I’ll get you into the systems of all the safe houses this week.”

“Nice going, Bruce.” Michael heard Jason laugh.

“Oh, shut up.” Tim snorted. “YOU gave him the original concussion in the first place.”

“His own fault. He should have blocked it!”

“… I’m gonna kill him…” Michael growled, forcing himself into sitting up and GLARING at Jason, who just looked amused. Then he lunged.

“Whoa!” Dick yelped, catching Michael as Jason leapt back. “Easy there, tiger!”

“Jason, stop being an asshole!” Tim snapped, and Damian just grinned and watched before delightedly announcing “they’re almost as bad as you and me, Drake!”

“Damian, that’s enough.” Bruce said sternly while Tim leveled a look of disgust on the current Robin.

“That’s not a GOOD thing, Damian.” Dick snickered.

“Depends on your point of view.” Damian declared, folding his arms and leaning against the sofa. Michael finally realized that they were all gathered in his bedroom.

“… YOU!” He snapped, pointing at Jason. “Get out of my room!!!”

Dick grinned and looked at his surrogate little brother. “You heard him!”

“Oh, fuck you, Grayson.” Jason said, and Bruce popped him upside the head.

“Watch your mouth!” He barked and Jason snarled.

“GET OUT, YOU ASS DOUCHE!!!” Michael howled.

“Don’t.” Bruce snapped when Jason opened his mouth and took a threatening step towards Michael. “Just go.”

Jason glared at Bruce, before slinking from the room.

“Well…” Dr. Thompkins huffed, looking very displeased in general. “Keep him in BED.” And she left the room, a silent Alfred trailing after her, though a steely look in his eye said that he was going to be addressing the potty mouths later. 

Bruce turned to look at Michael, and crossed his arms over his chest. “… Apparently, I need to keep a closer eye on you. That’s twice you’ve been out there on your own, and ended up with a head injury both times.”

“… It’s JASON’S fault!” Michael complained.

“YOU need to watch your head.” Bruce told him. “… AND your mouth.” Tim and Dick both grinned at this, then burst out laughing when Damian announced “Why? I’ve significantly expanded my vocabulary since I started listening to him.” Bruce leveled a look on Damian and pointed firmly at the door and with a “tch”, a roll of his eyes and a satisfied smirk, Damian left the room.

“I like him.” Michael announced.

“You would…” Tim snorted as Dick shook in suppressed laughter.

“You ALL need to stop encouraging each other.” Bruce observed, and Dick lost it again.

“Do I seriously have to stay in bed?” Michael demanded to know.

“Yes.” Bruce said, heading to the door.

“Then toss me the XBOX controller on your way out!” Michael called and Bruce paused, stared at the controllers on the coffee table and said “Which one is that?”

“Uh… The most likely choice would be the one with the X on it…” Michael said slowly, and Tim and Dick struggled mightily to keep from laughing. Bruce tossed the controller and Michael caught it deftly, saying “Thanks… but seriously? World’s Greatest Detective, my ass…” And with that, Tim and Dick lost their battle. Bruce left the room, rolling his eyes.

Michael just started up his game, paying no attention to Dick and Tim who were leaning on each other and giggling in a less than manly fashion. When they finally got control of themselves, Dick said “Well, we’ll get out of your hair and let you work out your frustration on Templar scum…” He told Michael, noting that the boy was starting up ‘Assassin’s Creed: Brotherhood’. “I’m sure you won’t be bedridden for long.”

“Damn straight I won’t.” Michael snorted, and Tim and Dick grinned and left him to it.

Michael was sure to behave over the next couple of days and stayed in bed for the most part. If he got out of bed it was to play around on his computer, or to sit on the sofa instead. Dr. Thompkins was pleased at his level of compliance in comparison to the usual that she got from stately Wayne Manor and released him from bed rest after two days, but did not clear him to don the mask and cape.

Already getting cabin fever, Michael went out late that next morning for a jog, sticking his earbuds in and turning on his iPod, blasting his eardrums with some AC/DC and other 80’s rock. Then he took off, his long braid swinging behind him as he went, down the front drive. He left the Wayne Estate grounds this time, jogging past what he had learned USED to be the Drake Estate, back before Tim’s dad had lost nearly everything in the stock market before he died. He wondered how odd it must be for Tim to live next door to his childhood home, and have all of those memories right there before his eyes… If it were him, he didn’t think he could bare it. As it was, he had resolved a very long time ago to never, NEVER go back to the compound he had grown up on… or even that part of the country… Anywhere in Texas, New Mexico or the bordering states around there was too close.

He blinked and raised his eyes when he caught movement and bright colors. Up the road ahead of him, on the other side of the street, were a couple of girls about his age. They wore very short shorts over tight leggings, and sports tops. Their hair was pulled back and their ponytails swung and bounced as they jogged up the street towards him. Then another girl appeared… then another, and two more, and then, as he peaked the hill, he looked down and stared at the nearly two dozen girls. And then he blinked rapidly and felt himself flushing a bit when he realized that the girls were all staring at him as he jogged by, some of them smiling and then murmuring to their friends. 

Confused, Michael looked back over his shoulder at them as he finally passed the last of the group. As he continued, he reached a pair of large, elegant wrought iron gates on the other side of the street with a broad drive going through them. And over the gate were the words “URSULINE ACADEMY OF GOTHAM CITY: Est. 1897”. A large bronzed plaque to the right of the gates read “Ursuline Academy Catholic School for Girls, Upper School”.

Michael’s eyebrows shot up… he had no IDEA there was private school for girls just a few miles down the road from the Wayne Estate. And it was a Catholic School… 

… Catholic School Girls… Dear God, he was just down the road from the dream of SO many guys…

He shook his head rigorously and laughed at himself, picking up the pace and continuing on, though he did cast a curious glance up the front drive to get a glimpse of the building. It was surrounded by enormous trees, but it appeared to be a very old neo-gothic building made of a dark gray stone with pale trim. And then it was gone from sight, so he turned his eyes back to the road and continued with his run.

When he passed back by, the front gates were closed; the girls were nowhere to be seen. Michael decided to run this route more often…

When he got back to the manor, it was quiet. He ran upstairs to his room, showered and changed and then went in search of someone, his long hair leaving a trail of water droplets as he went through the house. He paused in the kitchen to grab a glass of water to rehydrate, and then proceeded to seek out someone in the house. He found Tim in Bruce’s study, tapping away on a laptop computer. There was a woman’s voice coming from the little computer.

“Okay.” Tim nodded, shoving a pair of wire rimmed glasses back up further on his nose. “Thanks, Tam. I’ll handle it.”

“See ya later.” The woman said, and then Tim closed the laptop and leaned back in the chair, removing the glasses and rubbing his eyes. Then he paused, lowered his hand and looked at Michael. “Hey.”

“Hi. Where is everyone?” Michael asked.

“Uhh… I think Dick and Jason are in the garage working on the bikes.” Tim said, standing and moving out from behind the desk. “And I think Bruce and Damian are in the cave. Come on… I think Dick is working on that bike for you.” And Michael followed Tim out to the garage. Jason and Dick were indeed there, both working on different bikes and debating on who was hotter; Wonder Girl or Supergirl.

“Uh… first off…” Tim announced, alerting the pair to his presence, “you two are talking about a couple of MINORS. Second off, these are minors that could squash you like bugs with one FINGER. And third… one of those minors is a good friend of mine… please stop talking about her rack.”

“… Whose is bigger?” Michael asked between sips of his water, and Dick and Jason burst out laughing while Tim just gave Michael a look. “You guys never told me we were just a few miles away from a Catholic School for Girls!”

“Oh. You found Ursuline, huh?” Jason asked, grinning. “They are off limits, kid. Bruce requires that we be perfect gentlemen to the neighbors.”

Dick groaned then, sitting back on his haunches and wiping the sweat from his forehead with his arm. “This is no good…” He said, tossing a piece aside. “What do you think, Jase?”

Jason looked up and walked over, squatting down beside Dick. “… Uhg. Yeah. Suspension is shot. And the gasket is a wreck, too. I don’t think it would be worth your time trying to salvage them…”

“Thought so.” Dick sighed, standing and wiping his hands off on a rag. “I think I may have some parts down in the cave that will work.”

“Spark plugs?” Jason asked, and glanced at the bike he had been working on. “That one needs a whole new set.”

“Yeah, I think so.” Dick nodded. “That bike needs new breaks, too.”

“I noticed.” Jason nodded, and the pair headed into the house. Tim and Michael trailed after them. The group tromped down the stairs and emerged into the cave. Damian was on the training mats and beating the crap out of a punching bag. Bruce was at the computer, watching what appeared to be the video of an autopsy, with the cadaver already cut open.

“Cause of death is exsanguination.” Came the emotionless voice of a woman. “The throat was cut, from right to left. The attacker stood behind the victim, who was on his knees. The cut was deep enough to cut into the trachea. The jugular vein and carotid artery were severed. Victim bled out in minutes.”

The sound of shattering glass made Tim, Dick and Jason turn, and Damian paused in his workout. Michael stood frozen where he was, wide eyes on the massive screen of the Batcomputer… His face had gone white and the shards of glass sat on the floor before him, in a splatter of water.

“The victim has ligature marks on his wrists and numerous defensive wounds… extensive contusions to the lower arms and legs, as well as lacerations. Minor bruising to the torso, no internal damage. Organs appear healthy. Lungs are in excellent condition. The heart is incredibly healthy for a male in his forties.” The heart was removed and set into a basin.

“Michael?” Dick called and Bruce suddenly spun around in his chair, looking both startled and horrified. This got Jason’s attention more than anything else… he had never seen that look on Bruce’s face before. And then Michael’s eyes widened and he doubled over and heaved, throwing up onto the floor. Bruce whirled back, tapped at a couple of keys and the video stopped. The screen went black.

Michael was still staring at it, sitting on his knees with one hand over his mouth, as if to try and keep the remaining contents of his stomach in place. He didn’t respond to Dick’s insistent inquiries. He just sat there, trembling.

“Michael… What was that?! Hey, are you alright?” Dick asked, gripping his shoulders. “What is it? Answer me!”

“Bruce… who was that… victim?” Jason asked, slowly. Dick, Tim and Damian all turned and stared at Bruce now. The man said nothing, but he swallowed, staring at Michael.

“… where did you get that?” Michael gasped, his voice thin and dry. His eyes snapped to Bruce’s. Bruce didn’t move. He didn’t speak. He didn’t blink.

“WHERE DID YOU GET THAT?!” Michael demanded, the harsh scream sending the bats off in a thundering cloud of panicked retreat. And then Michael lunged. Dick and Jason caught him and he struggled, eyes blazing and teeth bared as he fought to get to Bruce. “Where did you get that?! You son of a bitch! Where is he?! What did they do to him?! Damn you! WHERE IS HE?!”

“… Oracle sent me the file.” Bruce finally said. “She got it when she hacked into…” He trailed off a moment, and then said “The FBI and DEO have a joint task force assigned to the investigation.” Michael just stared at Bruce, his eyes bloodshot, before he finally went limp and choked slightly, grimacing and spitting onto the floor as he felt his stomach churning again. Dick and Jason, who had still been holding him, let him drop to his knees though they didn’t let go. Michael’s shoulders heaved as he took several deep, gulping breaths, and then slammed his fists into the stone floor and let out an agonized scream that echoed through the cave.

Tim just stood there in shock, looking back and forth between Michael and Bruce while Damian stood silently, waiting to see how this drama would conclude. Dick slowly rose to his feet, leveling an icy stare onto his adoptive father.

“That video. Who was it…” He growled.

The silence was deafening, and seemed to stretch on for hours. But Bruce finally answered.

“… Theo D’Ambrosio. Michael’s father.”

For a moment, time stood still. And then there was a resounding crack, and a crash. Tim just gaped as Dick glared down at Bruce Wayne, who was on the floor beside the overturned chair, blood already trickling from the corner of his mouth. Dick’s fist was still raised and fury burned in his eyes.

“You stone cold, self-righteous, pig-headed, self-absorbed son of a bitch!!!” Dick raged, his voice harsh and sharp in the silence of the cave. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” Bruce simply stared up at Dick, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth for a moment before glancing down to confirm the presence of the blood. “LOOK AT ME!” Dick commanded, the moment Bruce looked away. Instantly, the man’s blue eyes snapped back to meet Dick’s gaze, a warning flashing in them. But Dick wasn’t heeding it this time. “I can not believe that you would be STUPID enough to—“

“That’s enough.” Bruce ordered, using the Batman voice as he stood and glared down at Dick before moving to walk away.

“No.” Dick snapped, stepping directly into Bruce’s path. “Not this time. This time, you’re going to shut up and listen!!!” Bruce narrowed his eyes and moved to turn around and go the other way, but his eyes widened in surprise as he checked his first step; Jason was blocking him, his gaze frigid.

“We fuck up, we have to listen to YOU lecture us. Well, you’re not Mr. Perfect, and you’ve fucked up big. I suggest you listen this time. You might actually learn something.” And Jason righted the chair and shoved it at Bruce, who had to catch it to keep it from banging painfully into his knees. “Sit. The fuck. Down.” Bruce glowered at Jason for a long stretch, then his eyes flicked to Tim.

His youngest adopted son had a cold expression on his face. His brow furrowed in a frown, letting Bruce know that he was not pleased with him either, and then he turned his back and knelt beside Michael. Turning to Damian gave him nothing. Damian’s face was blank. As usual. He was not getting involved, and his opinion on the situation was his own and he was not sharing it with anyone. And then he spotted Alfred at the base of the stairs… and oh, the ire he saw in the old butler’s eyes… Anger at HIM…

Finally turning back to his two eldest boys, Bruce Wayne slowly sat down and pierced them with his stare. Neither of them flinched. In fact, their own features hardened as they stood side by side.

“… You’re a fucking ass hole, Bruce.” Jason said suddenly.

“Heh.” Damian snickered, smirking.

“What the hell were you thinking?!” Dick demanded to know. “Because you sure as hell weren’t thinking about Michael.”

“I was.”

“Oh, let me guess… you were thinking about how watching that video could help you get information to guide you into getting JUSTICE for Michael?!” Dick spat. “Well guess what, Bruce… There is no Justice for Michael. Not for this. Not for his family. The one responsible is Ra’s Al Ghul. There is no JUSTICE for that man. He will NEVER go to prison, and you know that. So getting Michael JUSTICE is NOT a reason! And neither is closure! When you lose someone like that, there is no closure! Did you ever get closure after losing your parents? ‘Cuz I sure as hell didn’t! Closure is an illusion. It doesn’t exist. If you got closure, you wouldn’t run around in a mask and cape, would you?! When you lose your parents there is grief and pain and loneliness. And eventually those wounds will heal but the scars are always there. He’s healing, and then you had to go and rip those wounds open all over again because of YOUR selfish need to be doing something that you have convinced yourself that he has to have and only YOU can give! It’s selfish, it’s inconsiderate and it’s a LIE.”

Jason spoke then, “And you blow my mind with your narcissistic stupidity, watching that while he’s here.”

“He was out on a—“

“He came back.” Jason said flatly. “You could have watched it when he was on the job in the city.”

“He’s out of action right now and the file just came in.”

“So you fuckin’ wait, you moron!” Jason laughed, throwing his hands up into the air. “You wait until he’s cleared and goes back out! You wait until he’s fuckin’ started SCHOOL!!! But no! You watched it right away because you didn’t care!”

Bruce snapped to his feet then, eyes flashing. “Don’t you tell me that I don’t care.” He growled. Jason jabbed Bruce in the chest with a finger. 

“You didn’t care enough to take the precautions to make sure that he didn’t see that. Just like you didn’t care enough to think about how Tim would feel about you telling the Spoiler who he really was. Or didn’t care enough to think about me when—“

“We don’t need a list, Jason.” Dick interrupted. “… That would take hours.” Jason smirked at this and Bruce gave Dick a look. “Face it, Bruce. When it comes to other people, you have no consideration or common sense. And people get hurt. WE get hurt. And YOU are the one hurting us.” And Dick turned and walked over to Michael, kneeling down and placing a hand on his arm. “Come on… let’s get out of here. Get you cleaned up…”

“… No.” Michael gasped, finally getting back to his feet. He swiped the back of his fist over his eyes and stared at Bruce. “My dad… I… Where is he?” Bruce drew in a deep breath, and then let it out slowly.

“They were… ALL taken to a secure facility for the investigation.”

“ALL of them?! They won’t even get a proper burial?!”

“What does it matter?” Damian asked. “They’re DEAD.”

“Damian!” Tim snapped, staring in horror.

“What? It’s true. They’re just rotting meat now. It’s not THEM.”

“Damian, that’s enough!” Bruce growled.

“No, no… he’s right.” Michael said, drawing a deep breath. “I just… I’d rather they… Oh, I don’t know…” And he pushed by Dick and moved to the edge of the great chasm, staring down into the blackness to where the underground river was. “What about the League? Some of them died out there, too.”

“No. Their bodies weren’t recovered. And… neither was your… mother.”

“… What?” Michael gasped, turning and staring at Bruce.

“There are photos of every single body. I’ve looked at all of their faces. Your mother was not one of them.”

“Could she have survived?” Dick gasped, eyes wide.

“No.” Michael responded, shaking his head. His eyes were just as wide as Dick’s. “She was dead. Her throat had been cut. I saw her body myself. She was DEAD. They were ALL dead…”

“If her body wasn’t there, then the League must have taken it.” Jason reasoned.

“But why would they take my mother’s body?!” Michael demanded to know. No one answered. Michael turned back to the darkness. “… I want my father’s body.”

“What?!” Jason blurted.

“I know it’s silly… it’s just a… a shell. But I want to see his remains get…”

“Honored.” Dick finished.

“Yes.”

“Michael.” Bruce said softly. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

Michael stood still for a long time, and then nodded.

“I know. Doesn’t change how I feel. But I know.”

“And it’s not silly.” Bruce told him. “Not at all.” And he silenced Damian with a glare when the kid opened his mouth to debate that. “Michael… I’m sorry.”

Michael didn’t answer. He didn’t even turn to look at the man. Dick shot Bruce a glare again, then walked over and put an arm around Michael. 

“Come on…” He said softly, and Michael placidly allowed Dick to steer him back upstairs. Jason glared at Bruce for a moment longer and then followed, Tim on his heels. Damian regarded his father for a long moment, and then trailed after the others.

Bruce finally looked to Alfred, his eyes changing and silently pleading with the old man for a bit of reassurance. But it never came. Alfred merely fixed a look of disappointment onto Bruce, then turned and disappeared up the stairs after the boys…

Alone, Bruce allowed his shoulders to slump as guilt gnawed at his stomach. He looked around, then sighed and went to get some cleaning supplies to take care of the water, glass and vomit on the floor of the cave before he got back to work on the Riddler case…


	20. Severance

Dick made his way down the hall towards Michael’s room. The fifteen year old had shut himself up in there after seeing the shocking video of his father’s autopsy and hadn’t come out since. That had been four days ago. He could hear the music as he approached the door, and pushed it open. Michael was playing his guitar on the window seat, staring out blankly into the yard.

“—but I can’t hear what you’re saying. When I was a child I had a fleeting glimpse, out of the corner of my eye. I turned to look but it was gone, I cannot put my finger on it now; the child is grown, the dream is gone. I have become comfortably numb…”

Dick waited a moment, and when Michael’s fingers fell still and just rested on the strings of the guitar, he said “Hey.”

Michael blinked and turned, saying “Hey,” back to Dick.

“You mind?” Dick asked, gesturing to the other end of the window seat, and Michael shook his head, laying the guitar out across his thighs and resting his hands on it. Dick sat down and looked him in the eyes. “How are you holding up?”

“… Okay. I’ve spent all this time trying not to think about my family but… I can’t ignore their memory anymore now, I guess. And now I have… questions.” Dick said nothing. H just waited for Michael to elaborate. “Where is my mother’s body?” Michael finally asked. “Will my father ever be… laid to rest? His body, I mean. What about the others? Are they all just… being stored in a freezer somewhere? It just seems so… disrespectful to their memory. And it makes me…”

“Angry?”

“I’m fuckin pissed!” Michael cried. “That’s my family! And I can’t go claim their bodies because…”

“You’re a minor?”

“I’m in HIDING,” Michael corrected. “You really think they’re looking for me?”

Dick sighed and leaned back, rubbing his chin as he frowned and thought this over, eyeing the long waves of thick black hair falling down to Michael’s hips; he always had his hair braided, Dick had never really seen Michael with his hair down loose. Finally, he looked Michael in the eye and said, “I think they’ve got some feelers out. And if they catch a whiff of your scent, the hunt will be on.”

“But you’re enrolling me into public high school.”

“We’re lucky, Michael. They don’t know your name. Or that you’re even still alive.” Dick told him.

“Forgive me if that doesn’t bring much comfort.”

Dick just nodded and gripped Michael’s shoulder, standing. “Come out of your room for a while. Come down to the cave. Go outside and get some air. Do something.”

Michael turned and looked out the window again with a sigh, then nodded. 

“How about this…” Dick said. “You start school on Monday, so tomorrow we have to go see Leslie and get your required vaccines and physical. But tonight, you’ll come with me on patrol. No specific job to do, just moving through the city. Sometimes, that is the best thing to let yourself start to move on.”

“… That sounds good,” Michael nodded, smiling slightly.

“Okay. Good. Meet me in the cave at nine. I gotta go take care of some things.” And he headed for the door.

“… Dick?” Michael called, and the man paused and looked back at Michael. “Does the pain ever go away?”

Dick stared at him and then sighed. He remembered when he had just come to Wayne Manor after his parents had died, he had asked Bruce the exact same question, and then he found himself repeating Bruce’s words from so long ago…

“I wish I could say yes.” He said, gently. “But it will get better in time, for you…”

Michael just nodded turning to look back outside again. Dick slipped out of the room, closing the door behind him as Michael took up the guitar again.

“Hello. Is there anybody in there? Just nod if you can hear me. Is there anyone at home?”

Dick sighed and walked away, silently mouthing the lyrics Michael was singing as he went. But then he paused and raised his eyes. Bruce was standing in the hall before him, his face unreadable as always.

“How is he?”

“… Comfortably Numb.” Dick replied after a moment, then moved past Bruce and down the stairs, leaving the man to stand and contemplate the enigmatic response.

That night, Michael finally joined them for dinner. He was quiet, only speaking when spoken to, but he was pleasant enough, smiling and laughing with the others, and listening intently when Bruce briefed him on what they had found with the Riddler case. Tim and Damian would accompany him that night to try and track down Nigma, while Michael and Dick took the patrol. And soon after dinner they were all suited up and heading out into the city. 

This time, Michael was thrilled to have Tim toss him the keys to his motorcycle, and he rode out just behind and to the right of Dick, on his own motorcycle, while Batman and Robin took the car and Red Robin his own vehicle. He had spent so many months on the road with nothing but his bike and what he had in his backpack; that had become his life. It felt liberating to be tearing down the road again, and he savored it. And when they were in the city, all but flying over the rooftops, he felt the weight of the world lifted from his shoulders and was finally able to breathe again. Dick smiled to himself, knowing that he had made the right call. 

They started their patrol in crime alley and began a counter-clockwise path around the city. It seemed to be a quiet night at first. No shouts alerted them to trouble, no alarms, no gunfire. And they were both just fine with that. But of course, it was Gotham. And the quiet couldn’t last forever.

It was an alarm. Nightwing and Cardinal both swiveled their heads, and then Cardinal followed Nightwing’s lead in heading for it. They made their way to the corner of a rooftop and peered down. It was a jewelry store, and several men were running into a car, which then roared away.

“Come on!” Nightwing barked, and Cardinal leapt after him, grinning and pushing his hood back, feeling the fluttering of his cape matching the excited flutter in his stomach. He was surprised that they were able to keep up with the car flying over the rooftops as they were. It ended up at the riverside and pulled up beside a run down boathouse.

“THIS is their hiding place?” Cardinal snorted.

“Apparently…” Nightwing murmured.

“You sound tense.”

“I don’t like the possibilities coming to my head about who would be hiding out on the water… Come on. We move in quiet and go in soft.”

“Right.” Cardinal nodded, and followed Nightwing down. They crept along the roof, ears tuned to the voices inside of the place. And then there was a low, snarling voice.

“… damn.” Nightwing murmured.

“That didn’t sound human.”

“Croc isn’t completely human…”

“Croc?! KILLER Croc?” Cardinal blurted.

“Shhh… Take out those gunmen. Leave Croc to me.” Nightwing instructed. Cardinal stared at him, then nodded. The pair slid off of the roof and slipped into the boathouse. Cardinal glanced at Nightwing, then picked up an old piece of rotted wood and tossed it across the boathouse. It splashed into the water.

“Whazzat?!” Gasped one of the thugs.

“Probably a fish.” Croc snarled. But the men were still nervous, and were all facing the water.

“… Go.” Nightwing hissed and watched was Cardinal darted away, a silent dark blur. He smirked; that kid was damned good at that. It took him a long time to learn to move that quickly without making a sound.

But then there was a flutter. One man turned and only got out a “huh?” before he was on the floor. And by the time the others heard the THUD, Cardinal was already on the second of the four men. When Croc turned his attention onto the sudden red and black blur, Nightwing made his move.

The roar that Croc let out when Nightwing tasered him was deafening. The reptilian man stumbled and whirled, saliva flying as he snapped his jaws on the air right where Nightwing’s head had been only a split second before.

Cardinal by then had taken out all four men, had bound them in flex cuffs and dragged them off to the side and out of the way. Now he was circling the battle between an enraged Croc and a very agile Nightwing. Nightwing’s blows were hardly doing a thing to Croc, but he was too quick for Croc to land a blow himself. And then Nigthwing was dancing around the beast with a tension line in his hands. He flipped about, more light on his feet than Cardinal could believe, and soon he had the line wrapped around Croc’s right wrist. He tossed the line to Cardinal as he ducked another swipe of deadly claws and Cardinal immediately wrapped the line around one of the wooden beams running overhead to help support the ceiling. 

Croc bellowed in anger when he moved to swat Nightwing from the air, but his hand was stopped by the line. As he twisted about to see what had him, Cardinal tossed the coil of cable over Croc’s head to Nightwing, who wrapped it around another beam, dropped down and ensnared Croc’s other hand before he could catch up.

“Nice!” Cardinal finally blurted. “Good thing his brain is slower than his body!” Croc’s response was a bellow of fury, and he strained against the lines. “… Those CAN hold him, right?” Cardinal asked as he joined Nightwing a few yards in front of Croc.

“Even HE can’t break them.” Nightwing nodded. “Good work.”

“I’ll rip you to pieces!” Croc howled. “If you’re not crushed to death first!” And then there was an ominous crack. Nightwing froze.

“… Shit.”

“You said they could hold him!” Cardinal gasped.

“The lines will!” Nightwing blurted, looking around desperately. “The boathouse is another story!”

And no sooner had the words left his mouth than the beams gave way. And then the world was falling in on them. The old rotted wood gave way and the boathouse collapsed. “Get out of the water!” Nightwing was shouting, and Cardinal immediately began to struggle to get out, but with the ceiling coming down with them, he was barely fighting back the panic. And then there was a splash, a roar and a yelp, and Nightwing was gone.

“NIGHTWING?!” Cardinal shouted, fists banging against the ceiling that was still sinking. Trying to maintain control of himself, he took a deep breath and submerged, eyes sweeping around him. But he couldn’t see anything… Just shadows. He kicked through the water, watching the clouds of silt billow up as the large pieces of the boathouse hit the bottom of the river, and was finally able to slip through a window. He kicked his way to the surface and burst above the water just as his lungs were beginning to burn.

“Cardinal!” He turned at the shout and nearly sobbed in relief. Nightwing was dragging one of the bound henchman onto the shore. The other three, thankfully, never went into the water. “Get out!” Cardinal did not hesitate; he struck out for the shore waiting for Croc’s sharp teeth to sink into him and drag him under any second. Then Nightwing was knee deep in the river and thrusting a hand out. Cardinal reached out and clasped it and Nightwing heaved him out of the river, the pair of them stumbling up onto the shore and turning to stare at the dark waters, which were growing still. The only sound was the soft lapping of the remaining ripples, the gasps of the vigilantes as they fought to catch their breath, and the grunts and whimpers of the captured thieves on the ground behind them.

“… Did we lose him?”

Before Nigthwing could answer Cardinal’s question, the river exploded as Croc burst out of it, a surreal roar blasting from between his sharp teeth. His gleaming red eyes fixed on Nightwing and he struck. Cardinal yelped and dodged, but Nightwing was only able to avoid the claws. Croc’s arm caught him full in the chest and he went flying backwards and through the shoddy wall of a fish processing plant that was shut down for the season.

Cardinal watched with wide eyes as Croc stalked past, not even sparing him a glance, and went after the veteran vigilante. Cardinal stared after him, then leapt to his feet and scuttled after the massive reptilian man. He crept into the plant and looked around. Croc had vanished into the darkness, and Nightwing was nowhere to be seen either.

Slowly, Cardinal made his way through the plant. There were shadows in every corner and hulking masses wherever he turned. For a few moments, he was sure he could hear Killer Croc’s rattling breath, but it quickly faded. Then there was a sudden loud bang, a series of clanks and the machinery all suddenly whirred to life…

Cardinal froze and cursed inwardly as now there was movement everywhere. Now he had to decipher whether the movement he was seeing in every direction was mechanical, or organic…

He gasped and whirled when there was a roar and a yelp, and then several crashes. Then silence. Heart in his throat, he darted around the corner of a large machine that ground up the fish. There was a hole in the wall and the machinery was heavily dented with rips in the metal, left by claws. There was a Batarang lodged in the wall, but Croc and Nightwing were nowhere to be seen. 

Cardinal had to resist the urge to call out for his companion, knowing that he would be unwise to give away his own position. He was just lifting his fingers to his mask radio to try and hail Nightwing quietly when there was a loud “CARDINAL! DUCK!!!”

He never hesitated. He dropped to the floor, hearing the air overhead as Croc’s arm swung over his head, and his claws ripped into the back of his hood, narrowly missing his scalp. Had he not been warned, Croc would have taken off his head. He rolled, attempting to get away, but his cape tightened around his throat and cut off his breath as he was jerked off of the floor. Then he was dangling, staring Killer Croc straight in the eye.

“… You’re a little one, aren’t you?” Croc rumbled, and Cardinal could hear Nightwing making his way toward them. “Not big enough to eat, not small enough to throw back… but perfect for making chum to attract the bigger fish!” And he whirled and flung Cardinal down. He hit the conveyor belt of one of the machines painfully, knocking the wind out of him, and then there was a massive hand on his chest, pinning him down. Cardinal writhed and twisted, managing to get his bearings, and they were not good. He was on the conveyor belt that carried the fish into the grinder, and the gleaming steel teeth were spinning as his head got closer and closer…

“CROC!!!” Nightwing roared, charging. Croc laughed and backhanded Nightwing to the floor, saying “I’ll force his shredded meat down your throat, Nightwing! Right before I RIP IT OUT!!!” And he raised claws, ready to deal the killing blow. But Cardinal had been digging in his belt, and when Croc looked down it was just in time for the Flash & Bang rounds to go off, blinding him, and then Nightwing jabbed him with a taser again. Croc stumbled back, swinging wildly as he tried to blink away the spots before his eyes.

“Are you alright?!” Nightwing called over his shoulder.

“I’m fine, I—huhhk!” Nightwing spun on the spot when Cardinal’s words were choked off, and his eyes widened when he saw Cardinal being dragged back into the machine by his cape.

“Take it off!” Nightwing shouted, and Cardinal fumbled with the clasp and got it undone. But that didn’t help. He let out a yip as he was jerked back by his scalp… his long, waist length braid was caught. “CARDINAL!” Nightwing shouted, now abandoning Croc and running for his younger partner, who was now on his knees on the conveyor belt facing the grinder, bowed over and being reeled in. His frantically groping fingers found the metal band on his right thigh and he popped a feather dart out of the cartridge, and Nightwing watched as he gripped his braid and drew the razor sharp serrated edge across his hair, shearing it off. Then he tumbled to the floor and sat up, watching with wide eyes as his hair, and cape, was devoured by the machine. 

Then Nightwing was kneeling beside him, his hands on the teenager’s shoulders, also staring at the machine’s cruel teeth as they continued to spin hungrily.

“Are you okay?” Nightwing asked.

“… Y-yeah.” Cardinal gasped, nodding and taking Nightwing’s offered hand and then they were both on their feet. “… He’s gone.” Cardinal observed then. “Dammit, he’s gone!”

“He’ll pop up again.” Nightwing told him. “The important thing is that YOU’RE okay.”

Cardinal said nothing.

After they had called in GCPD to pick up the four thugs that they had apprehended, the pair found themselves perched on top of a crane between a pair of warehouses on the harbor, staring out at the distant silver flashes of lightning in a storm passing by out to sea.

“... Feel better?” Nightwing finally spoke. Cardinal looked up from where he was crouched beside him, and smiled. 

“I guess…”

“Look…” Nightwing said. “I know it wasn’t a look you were intentionally going for, but it’s not bad.” And he flicked a lock of Cardinal’s hair. It was now hanging wildly around his shoulders, still wavy but curling at the end.

Cardinal laughed a bit. “Thanks. I uh… I guess it’s for the best. I mean, well, what happened is just one big reason why.” He paused for a moment, then drooped. “You know, I wore it long like that because… my dad wore his long like that. My dad really was my role model. I wanted to be just like him. He was so amazing and… I… I miss him. I really miss him…”

After a moment Nightwing sat down, and not taking his eyes off of the distant storm he said “Tell me about your dad.” Cardinal looked at him. “What was he like?”

Cardinal regarded his companion, then grinned, turning back to vista as he said “Dad was an idiot.” Nightwing turned to look sharply at the young man. “He was always doing stupid shit and getting mom pissed off at him. But it was damn funny stuff that he did. Stupid things… like… you know the spray hose on the kitchen sink? With the trigger?”

“…. Yeah?” Nightwing asked, slowly feeling a grin come to his face.

“Well, he would put a rubber band on it, so that when mom turned on the sink…” He trailed off and allowed Nightwing’s imagination to bring him to the proper conclusions. The man chuckled.

“He was a practical joker, then?”

“Yeah… Mom wasn’t. She was always very quiet and reserved… I don’t know how they ended up together.”

“Opposites attract.”

“But it doesn’t keep them together,” Cardinal mused.

“What do you mean?” Nightwing asked.

“Well, I remember that when I was little and dad would do something stupid like that, mom would yell at him, but she was laughing. When I got older, she just… yelled.” He sighed and Nightwing turned to watch him. “When I got older she stopped laughing. She stopped humoring him. She stopped… smiling. I know they did their best to hide it, but… Dad was sleeping on the sofa a lot… and I think he was um… I think he started having an affair with another woman on the compound. And mom didn’t seem to give a damn. She didn’t seem to care about anything anymore. Except for me. And my training. Mom used to be fun. But then she… wasn’t.”

“Hmmm…” Nightwing hummed in thought. “Do you think she was having an affair?”

“No.” Cardinal said immediately. “It wasn’t just my dad that she withdrew from. It was everyone on the compound but me. Everyone.”

“And you have no idea why?” Nightwing asked. Cardinal shook his head.

“I wasn’t close to my mom anymore. Not for several years.”

“And your dad?”

“We were always close. We liked to play together. Guitar. And sing. And mom would complain that it was a waste of time and I should spend my time focused on expanding my training. Dad held firm on it and they were fighting more and more in the last year or so before… well… She wanted me training every waking moment. My father held his ground, insisting that I was to have leisure time and I could do whatever I wanted during that time.” Cardinal frowned. “You know… I remember, about a month before… the League came, my mother was yelling at my father in Japanese. And she said, I think it was… ‘it’s time he grew up and worked hard so that he can claim his place in the world’, and my dad told her that my place would be my choice, and he asked her what she expected of me, what she meant and… she wouldn’t say.”

Nightwing stared out into the distance, a deep frown darkening his features. He was drumming his fingers on his knee.

“Storm’s getting closer,” he finally said, standing. “Come on. We’re going to head to my apartment, stay there tonight. We’ll head to Leslie’s Clinic in the morning to get you your vaccines.”

“Government conspiracy!” Cardinal howled, and Nightwing laughed. “What, you said my cover story is holistic parents who don’t believe in modern medicine!”

“Don’t worry about the cover stories with me, kid. But feel free to debate the importance of vaccines with Leslie.”

“No thanks. She might just start stabbing.” Cardinal snorted, and followed Nightwing in an effortless dive off of the crane.

By the time they reached Dick’s apartment, they could hear the thunder. Dick turned on the news briefly to check the weather. A thunder storm was passing through overnight. The severe weather would be done by sunup, but the rain would continue into the early afternoon. Oh, and there was a tropical storm out in the Atlantic that was looking to develop into a hurricane. Gotham was only one of several cities on its several possible paths.

“Wow… I’ve never been in a hurricane before…” Michael commented.

“Nothing to worry about. Go shower, I’ll make sure the guest room is ready for you.” And Dick turned, stripping off his gloves as he went. “Don’t worry about your costume. Just keep it here. We have several costumes and safe houses around the city, as we make more suits for you, we’ll start getting them stocked with your gear, too.”

“Okay,” Cardinal nodded, heading for the bathroom. Once the shower was running (and Michael was singing) Dick pulled out his cell.

“Nightwing.” Came the gruff greeting. Dick could tell that Batman was in the Car.

“Hey. Michael and I are staying the night at my apartment in the city,” He said.

“You cut your patrol short,” Batman observed, disapproval in his voice.

“Bruce… Michael told me something tonight. He told me that his parents were having problems. The marriage was deteriorating.”

“And? It happens.”

“It’s the way he described his mother. Bruce… I think she may have betrayed them to the League.”

There was a tense silence for a stretch, and then Batman growled “Tell me.”

“Midori changed. She became distant from everyone on the compound, Theo included. Michael said that she stopped laughing, she stopped smiling, and even with him, she wasn’t motherly anymore. It sounds like she became a strict task master. All her focus was on Michael’s abilities and improving him. His father intervened, made sure he had time to be a kid, wouldn’t let Midori hold his nose to the grindstone. But there was a conversation they had not long before the attack. Michael overheard them arguing and Midori told Theo that it was time for Michael to focus and train to get ready to take his rightful place in the world. Theo asked her what she meant, but she wouldn’t say. Either way, he held firm on the point that Michael’s place would be Michael’s choice but… only a month later they were all slaughtered. And Midori’s body was the only one missing…”

“… Good work. I’ll look into it.”

“Without scarring the Traitor?” Dick heard Damian drawl, and the silence that followed spoke volumes. Dick knew that Damian was getting The Glare. “Tch.” He heard, and then the call ended.

Smiling slightly in amusement at the jab that Damian had thrown at his father, Dick tossed his phone onto the sofa and headed to the guestroom, peering out the window at the lightning and noting the thunder a few seconds later. He made sure that the sheets on the guest room bed didn’t smell musty and made sure that the TV’s remote control was on the bedside table, and then cracked open the bathroom door in the middle of Michael’s performance of Metallica’s “Enter Sandman” and set some pajamas on the counter for him. Then he returned to the living room, where Michael found him watching the news when he was done with his shower.

“Help yourself to anything in the kitchen.” Dick told him as he trotted past to take his own shower. When he emerged, Michael was curled up on the sofa eating spicy potato chips and watching reruns of Storm Chasers on the Discovery Channel. Dick flopped down on the sofa and plunged his hand into the bag when Michael offered and began munching away at the chips as well.

The pair stared at the screen for a long moment, and then Michael asked, “Can the Batmobile do that?”

Dick grinned. “Kiddo, that car would be my first choice if I were planning on driving into a tornado.” He chuckled as the Tornado Intercept Vehicle had to pull over due to a mechanical problem. “I have to give those guys credit though.”

“For designing the car?”

“… for their perseverance.” Dick corrected, and Michael grinned, then cocked his head in thought.

“You think Bruce would let us—“

“NO.” Dick said firmly, biting back a grin. 

“I hadn’t even said it yet!”

“There is NO way he would let us take the Batmobile on a Storm Chasing Road Trip.”

“Awww… Balls.” Michael pouted through his snickers, shoving more chips into his mouth.

“Balls? Can you say something else please? Like ‘nuts’?”

“What’s the difference?” Michael asked slyly, and after a moment of consideration, Dick gave him a look.

“Oh, shut up.”

And at the end of the episode, Dick sent Michael to bed, though a couple of throw pillows and colorful taunts were tossed back and forth before they both closed the door to their rooms.


	21. Needles

Michael was delighted in the morning when Dick made pancakes. After breakfast they brushed their teeth, dressed, and headed out. Dick had a convertible stashed away in the parking garage of the building, but with the dreary rain they kept the top tightly locked down.

Michael was mildly surprised when they parked down the street from Thompkins Clinic in Crime Alley. Seeing the confusion on Michael’s face, Dick explained “The clinic serves the people here who can’t afford medical care. It’s paid for by donation.”

“Bruce?”

“Among others, yes. Our coming here isn’t odd, before you ask. The whole city knows that Leslie was a good friend of Dr. Thomas Wayne, and has always been Bruce’s doctor, and all of his uh…”

“Kids?” Michael asked, and Dick grinned.

“Yeah. Come on,” and he pulled the door open and stepped in. The waiting room was quiet. Only one person sat there, a young woman calmly reading a magazine. She eyed Dick and Michael as they sat down, and the receptionist called out a cheerful greeting, “good morning, Mr. Grayson! You have… Michael D’Ambrosio?”

“I do, Tracy, thanks.”

“Dr. Thompkins is just finishing up with a patient and then she’ll be ready. Her nurse is already drawing up his vaccines.”

“Conspiracy I tell you!” Michael cried and Dick smacked him upside the head with an amused “shut up! Here!” And he shoved a brochure into Michael’s hands.

“Hmmm… ‘state requires certain vaccinations for children entering public schools. Children must be vaccinated against some or all of the following diseases: mumps, measles, rubella, diphtheria, pertussis, tetanus, and polio’…” Michael read. “What, no Malaria? You can get that in High School, right? Tuberculosis? Anthrax? Bubonic Plague?”

“Shut up, Michael,” Dick snickered then leaned in a murmured “Bruce will vaccinate you against those back home.”

“… Wait… seriously?”

“Tim almost died from a strain of Ebola, remember?”

“… Right…” Michael mumbled, softly. A moment later, the door opened and Michael watched as Dr. Thompkins walked out with a man and his little four year old boy, clinging to his hand and sniffling pathetically, but licking a red lollypop.

“Thank you, Dr. Thompkins.” The man said, looking beyond happy.

“Any time, Riley.” Dr. Thompkins smiled. “And I called in the insulin refill for Shantelle. You can pick it up on your way home.” And she looked down at the little boy. “You keep being brave for me, DeShawn. And remember… if you can be brave enough to get your shot, you can be brave enough to stand up to your sister! Okay?”

Little DeShawn sniffled and shuffled to hide behind his father’s leg, refusing to look up; Dr. Thompkins grinned. “Now we get to see if Mr. D’Ambrosio is as brave for his shots as you were for yours. Are you ready, Michael?” And she turned a shrewd look onto Michael, who froze like a deer in headlights and gave a hesitant “not really?”

DeShawn’s dad chuckled and picked up his son, moving to leave the clinic, but paused. On the wall were photos of the donors that kept the clinic open, with their names on them. He turned.

“Mr. Grayson?”

“Yes?” Dick asked, standing. Riley walked over and seized his hand.

“Thank you for what you do here, sir.”

“What? Oh, no… I don’t do anything.”

“Your donations paid for my son’s vaccines today, Mr. Grayson.”

“I just donate the cash. All of this is thanks to Dr. Thompkins’ efforts.” Dick said with a grin.

“We depend on our donors, Dick.” Leslie told him with a warm smile, and then said “Come on, Michael. And Miss Washington?” The woman appeared from behind her magazine, “I’ve got the fax coming through from the lab right now. Let me take care of Mr. D’Ambrosio and I’ll review the results with you.”

“No hurry, Doc.” The woman nodded with a smile. “I got nowhere to be today.”

And then the door closed and Michael followed Dr. Thompkins into an exam room, Dick trailing along behind them. Michael was immediately staring at the tray with SEVERAL vaccines on them.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to face down members of the mob without blinking but you’re going to balk at a few needles.” Dr. Thompkins snorted. “Do you want Mr. Grayson present for your physical?”

“Haven’t I already had several physicals?” Michael asked.

“I can’t use those for your official medical record for the school. I think that a healing gunshot wound would raise some red flags.”

“No they won’t.” Michael snorted. “The story is that my parents died in a home invasion gone bad. I’ll have to explain the scars eventually, so I’m gonna just say that I got shot in the home invasion, but miraculously made it.” And he shrugged at the looks that were leveled on him.

“He has a point,” Dick admitted, looking at the elderly woman, who looked less than amused. “And you can’t blame US for that wound, so don’t even try.”

“Hm.” She simply said. “Alright Mr. D’Ambrosio. Clothes off.”

“WHAT?”

“Oh calm down. You can keep your underwear. And I’ve seen more of you tending to your wounds.”

“Uhg…” Michael grumbled, but tugged off his tshirt and kicked off the sneakers that were a bit too large for him, and unbuckling the belt that was keeping the oversized jeans snuggly on his hips. But then he paused. “Um… no underwear. I stayed the night at Dick’s place. These are all Tim’s old clothes that he had there for emergencies.”

“You could have fit into Tim’s underwear!”

“I am NOT wearing another guy’s underwear!” Michael howled.

Dr. Thompkins just sighed, rolling her eyes to the heavens as she silently pleaded for patience (and a straight face).

“Well, sit on the table and put the sheet over your lap.” Dick laughed. “I’ll be in the waiting room.” And he slipped out of the exam room, calling “man up and stop being a sissy for your shots!”

“SISSY?!” Michael howled, only to have the door slammed in his face and a thermometer stuck into his mouth. He growled under his breath and tossed the jeans onto the chair that Dick had abandoned, but did as he had suggested and sat on the edge of the exam table with the sheet in his lap. 

“Now then,” Dr. Thompkins said, taking the thermometer back and checking it before turning and regarding the young man before her over the rims of her wire frame glasses. “Tell me how you’ve been feeling. Any pain or stiffness around your wounds? You cut your hair… and you’re covered in fresh bruises.” And she leaned over and gently ran her fingers over the scar tissue on his back where his arrow wound had been.

“Yes ma’am, I am. But I’m fine.” Michael assured her, and she smiled at the slight Texas twang that was heard whenever he said ‘ma’am’. “And I’ve been great.” 

“Good. Scar tissue looks healthy,” she told him as she moved to give the scar tissue where his bullet wound was a very close and careful inspection. “You heal very well and very fast, Michael.” She took his arm and looked at the less noticeable scar from the laceration that was partially healed before it had been reopened the night Michael had come to Gotham. “And your fractured wrist?” She asked, wrapping the blood pressure cuff around his bicep and inflating it.

“No issues since the splint came off. Holding up just fine, like it never happened.”

“Good.” She said again, sticking her stethoscope into her ears and pressing the pad to the inside of his elbow just below the inflated cuff and watching her watch. Michael remained silent as she did this, watching curiously as all of this was new to him. After a bit Dr. Thompkins released the cuff from his arm and jotted some numbers down on his chart before pressing the stethoscope to his chest. She frowned slightly and her eye glazed over for a moment, then abruptly cleared as she mumbled “heart sounds excellent,”

Now Michael’s eyes glazed over as he heard the monotone voice on his father’s autopsy video declare “the heart is incredibly healthy for a man in his forties…” He quickly shook himself out of it, trying not to remember the vision of gloved hands removing his father’s heart from his chest cavity. Leslie had moved the stethoscope to his back and was listening to his breathing now and after a while said “Lungs sound good too.” Michael heard that clinical voice again as it announced “Lungs are in excellent condition.” 

“Michael?”

“Yeah?” Michael managed to get out.

“Are you alright?”

“… Yeah. Why?”

“You’re shaking.”

“… Cold.” Michael shrugged, even as a shiver ran down his spine and goosebumps rose on his arms. Dr. Thompkins eyed the bumps on his bicep, then just accepted his answer as she checked his eyes.

“Do you have your father’s eyes?” She asked.

“… I dunno. I guess… I mean, I have a bit of the Japanese slant to them from my mother, but… Why?”

“They’re a very unusual color.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Michael grinned. “That’s from my dad. His brothers had them, too.”

“Follow the pen with your eyes only, keep your head still. Did you know them?”

“No. My uncles were loyal to the League. I never met them, but dad and mom told me about them.”

He turned his head and let her check his ears and then tilted his head back while she checked his lymph nodes, and then fixed a look of horror onto her when she shone a light back into his throat and then said “I need to tell Dick to get you in to see a dentist…” She chuckled at the panicked look that appeared on his face and chided him, “oh, don’t be like that. Your teeth look good for someone who has probably never seen a dentist before. But you want to keep them like that, so…” And she trailed off again as she checked his ears. “Alright. Lie down.” Michael obeyed, twitching at her cold fingers on his stomach as she performed an abdominal palpation.

“… Can this count as a sports physical?”

“Why?” She asked, smiling up at him.

“I’m thinking of trying out for the gymnastics team.”

“Bruce will love that…” She chuckled.

“What Bruce doesn’t know—“

“Will get you in a lot of hot water when he finds out.” Leslie interrupted. “But sure… I’ll fill out that form. I think it would be good for you to do something like that. You can sit up now. I’m just going to take a blood sample to run your blood work and we’ll give those vaccines.”

And after a resigned sigh, Michael watched her disinfect the inside of his arm and skillfully slide the needle straight into his vein, the blood spurting into the glass tube, and then Dr. Thompkins was withdrawing the needle and slapping a bandaid on the puncture and labeling his blood tubes, and then reaching for several cotton balls soaked in alcohol, using them to begin swabbing Michael’s shoulder.

His eyes widened as she snagged the first vaccine. “You’ve been shot in the back with an arrow and took a bullet to the abdomen…” She drawled, giving him a look. He scowled, then let out a yip as she stabbed the first needle into his muscle. “Suck it up. God knows how much worse you’ll get if you insist on joining that overgrown Peter Pan from Hell and his Lost Boys…”

Out in the waiting room, Dick and the woman reading the magazine both looked up at the sudden explosion of laughter followed by a very loud “OW!!!”

“… He yours?” The woman asked, looking at Dick with a grin, and he shrugged.

“He is NOW.” At her questioning look, he shrugged. “New Legal Guardian.”

“Ah.” She nodded, and went back to her magazine.

Back in the room, Leslie continued to jab Michael with the needles on both arms, and even a couple on the tops of his thighs. “There. That was the last one.” She said with a snort. “And you completely overreacted.”

“That hurt!”

“Hm.” Was all she said. “Clothes on. Then take this to the bathroom and fill it up to the line. Leave it in the cubby.” And she handed him a cup. He stared at it in horror.

“… fill it with WHAT?”

“I’ll leave that up to you to figure out.” She laughed, and left him alone. 

Ten minutes later and Michael shuffled out of the bathroom, looking very ruffled.

“In here, Michael!” He heard Dr. Thompkins call, and he peeked into her office. “Come in. Close the door.” Michael blinked and did so. “Sit down.” He obeyed, watching her scribbling on some paper. After a moment, she set the pen down and looked him straight in the eyes. “Michael… I want to hear this from you, without the others around to influence what you say. First, you must understand that I love Bruce. I love him very much. But I cannot and will not approve of what he does. It’s foolish and reckless. And worse, he keeps bringing these misguided young men into his insane crusade for a cause he will never see come to pass. So I have to know… what is it that you want. What do you REALLY want? Because if this isn’t it, I will help you get out of it.”

She watched as the teenager before her took a frightening turn. All of a sudden, he set his jaw and his eyes were smoldering with a dark fire that she had seen in the gaze of mad men…

“What do I really want?” He asked, his voice hard and sharp. He raised his head slightly and stared at her. “I want Ra’s Al Ghul’s head on pike. I want to feel his flesh opening under my blade and his blood on my hands. I want to see him choke on his last breath and watch the light go out in his eyes. I want the Demon’s Head to suffer and die! By MY hand!” He was nearly shouting now, and was half standing. Leslie was staring at him in dread. Michael took a deep breath, slowly moved to sit down, forcing himself to relax. 

“I want… the others to be there to stop me. If I can’t stop myself. I want Bruce and Dick and the others to help me fight my demons, and to teach me how to fight and be a warrior to uphold the wishes of my family that I NOT become a killer. What do I REALLY want?” He echoed, and looked at her. “I want my family back. But that’s not going to happen. So what I really want is to stand and fight with… a new family. Because I’m a warrior. And I cannot live my life any other way. The League will not allow it, and I don’t want to try. I’m doing what I want. I appreciate your concern but…”

The pair sat in silence for a very long time, staring at one another. But finally, Leslie heaved a sigh of defeat and lowered her eyes. “I see.” She said in a muted tone. “Here.” And she handed him several papers. “Records of your exam and vaccines and a Sports Physical form.”

“Thank you.”

“And Michael… I’ve written my personal cell number on there. If you ever need anything…”

“Thank you.” Michael said again, nodding.

And then Leslie accompanied him out to the waiting room.

“Ready?” Dick asked, standing.

“Ready,” Michael nodded.

“Take him home and let him rest. The vaccines will make him tired and he may feel a bit ill tonight and tomorrow, but he should be good for his first day of school on Monday.”

“Wait wait wait… I thought the vaccines were supposed to PREVENT me from getting sick, not MAKE me sick!”’

“They do, but they can still impact your system in a way that you can feel for a bit.” Dick told him.

“Uhg…” Michael groaned, tucking the papers into his pocket.

“Stop your bitching and let’s go.” Dick laughed, and with a wave at Dr. Thompkins, Michael followed him out.

Leslie sighed and shook her head, then smiled and turned saying “Miss Washington? If you would like to come to my office, we can go over your test results.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Alfred greeted Dick and Michael upon their return to Wayne Manor, but stopped mid sentence when he saw Michael’s hair.

“My word! What happened?!” He demanded to know.

“I got a haircut.” Michael said, trying to stay casual.

“Rubbish.” Alfred said immediately, a frown darkening his kindly face. “I don’t believe that any more than Master Bruce would.” Michael winced at that, but nearly groaned aloud when Alfred followed that up with “you may as well get it over with. The others have just emerged from their beds and are having breakfast. Into the kitchen with you.” And he shooed Dick and Michael into the kitchen.

The conversation that was being held quickly trailed off. Bruce, Damian and Tim were all staring at Michael and his hair that fell wildly around his shoulders now, instead of braided all the way down his back. Tim’s fork was halfway to his mouth and Damian had paused in drinking his milk (required by Alfred, as always). Bruce just sat there with his fork and knife poised over his sausage, but slowly put them down as his eyes darkened.

“… What happened.” He demanded to know in the Bat Voice.

“I cut my hair.” Michael announced defiantly.

“Yourself.” Bruce stated, and Michael nodded.

“Myself,” he confirmed. Bruce immediately looked to Dick, who paused but then said “He cut it himself. I saw him do it.”

“… When, where, why, how.”

“You missed ‘who’ and ‘what’.” Michael snorted.

“Shut up, Michael.” Dick groaned.

“Fine. Who, what, where, when, why, how. NOW.”

Dick closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, then sighed and said “Killer Croc, fight, fish processing plant on the river, last night, his hair got caught in the fish grinder, with his feather dart.”

“… Tch.” Was Damian’s response, and he began crunching on a piece of bacon.

“Sit. Give me the details.” Bruce ordered, and Michael and Dick sat down to have a second breakfast, which Alfred had promptly served them. Michael just ate and let Dick do all the talking. Dick told Bruce everything, not leaving out a single detail. Michael was actually pretty impressed at just how accurate Dick’s report was. At the end of it all, Bruce was silent for a moment and then said “Did you recover the stolen goods?”

“No.” Dick told him. “They went to the bottom of the river.”

“Which likely means Croc has them.” Bruce stated.

“Yes,” Dick agreed.

“Hn.” Was all Bruce said before turning to Michael and stating “You’re lucky.”

“Bruce let him alone. It was a close call, we’ve all had them.” Dick stepped in. “He kept a level head and did what he had to do. I’d say he handled himself well. And learned a valuable lesson, too.”

Bruce stared at Michael for a long moment, then gave a single nod and went back to his breakfast, mumbling “he got his shots?” around his eggs.

“Yeah. This morning before we came home. You wanna finish his vaccines in the cave after breakfast?”

“Yes.” Bruce said. And so once he was done, Michael followed him down to the cave.

“Isn’t this a bit much?” He asked, sitting in the counter and rolling up his sleeves to bare his already sore shoulders.

“You’ll likely sleep the rest of today and feel a bit off tomorrow, but you should be fine for the weekend before school starts.”

“What are these for?” Michael asked. 

“Malaria, Tuberculosis, Anthrax, Ebola, Bubonic Plague—“

“Seriously?!”

“Yellow Fever, SARS, various exotic strains of the flu—“

“Swine and Avian?”

“Among others, yes. Also Meningitis and Pneumonia.”

“I feel like you’re turning me into a walking petri dish.” Michael snorted.

“Better than the alternative.” Bruce said, casting a long glance at Tim when he came down the stairs. “… Trust me.” Tim didn’t even pay any notice as he sat down at the computer.

“He… almost died?”

“He would have died if we didn’t get the cure when we did. A couple of hours later and it would have been too late. He hadn’t developed the boils, but his muscles were seizing and he was bleeding from the eyes. He was… in excruciating pain. Before we got the cure, I had begun to hope he would… pass quickly. We’ve never told him, but towards the end there, he was completely delirious and… he was screaming in pain. He doesn’t remember that. I’d like to keep it that way.”

Michael nodded silently, also staring at the back of Tim’s head.

“All I could think was… what am I going to tell his father?” Bruce admitted.

“But he found out eventually, right?” Michael asked.

“He never knew about Tim and the virus… but yes. A little over a year later.” Bruce nodded. “He had become very suspicious and found the hidden compartment in the back of Tim’s wardrobe. Found everything. Came over and shoved a gun in my face.”

“Yikes.”

“Mm.” Bruce said, beginning to stab Michael with the needles now that he had them all drawn up and ready. “So, we’ve finalized your back story.”

“Oh?”

“Your dad grew up in the circus. That’s how he knew Dick.” Bruce said, and Michael quirked a brow, trying not to laugh. “He was an acrobat. But he blew out his knee when he was very young and had to retire early. Went to a community college in Florida in the circus wintering grounds. He met your mother there. And she got him involved with the… spiritualists who eventually moved out west. But your dad kept in touch with Dick. Pen Pals.”

Michael snickered. “I don’t think dad had ever written a letter in his life.”

Bruce smiled slightly at that. “Your mother was an only child. Her family ran a dry cleaner store.”

“Glamorous.” Michael snorted.

“Hence why she wanted to get out. Her relationship with her parents was strained. You never knew your grandparents. Your parents cut all ties with them when they moved to the compound.”

“Okay… And the… home invasion?”

“The perps were never caught.” Bruce told him. “It’s suspected that they thought you were an anti-government militia and they came to steal arms that you didn’t have. Your father interrupted the robbery and he was killed. Your neighbors heard the commotion and came running, and in the chaos you were shot and the compound was set on fire; arson. You were able to drag yourself out of the burning house. You didn’t know until later in the hospital that your parents were both killed and that several others died. Your community moved to a new location after the murders, but you were sent to Gotham because Dick was your legal guardian. You aren’t in touch with the community, you don’t know where they went.”

“They wanted nothing to do with me, thought I was cursed.” Michael mumbled, and Bruce gave him a look.

“Don’t ham it up too much.” He said, jabbing Michael with the last syringe.

“Ow.”

“Alright, you’re done.” Bruce said. “Go upstairs and relax. I’ll want to check your temperature later this afternoon.”

“Okay.” Michael nodded, hopping down off of the counter and heading back upstairs, glancing at Tim as he passed. A vision came to his mind’s eye as he did, of his friend’s body twisted grotesquely, with blood dripping from his eyes as he screamed… Michael shuddered and shook it off, hurrying out of the cold, gloomy cave and up into the warm, sunlit house above.

By lunch, Michael already wasn’t feeling well. Alfred brought him tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich, which Michael ate in his room while playing video games, but he crawled into bed shortly after that. He emerged briefly that evening to eat a small dinner with the rest of the group, but mostly just ate the rice, and then showered, played video games some more and was in bed by elven. He slept like the dead for a good twelve hours straight. Even then, he got up, used the bathroom, and spent the day playing video games wrapped up in a blanket on the sofa.

It was Sunday by the time he felt back to normal but as he had his first day of school in the morning, Dick and Bruce wouldn’t let him go out with them to patrol, and Alfred had him (and an aggravated Damian) firmly in bed by ten…

Michael was not pleased that he had to wake up to an alarm now. But he did, rising when it went off, dressed, brushed his hair and headed down to the kitchen. Damian was less than two minutes behind him, and Tim seven minutes after that, explaining that he had a meeting with Lucius Fox. Alfred would be chuaffering them all that morning. And so after a very well rounded breakfast a la Alfred, they dispersed to brush their teeth, grab their backpacks and briefcases, and all piled into the small, nondescript limo.

“When you turn sixteen,” Tim told Michael, “You can drive yourself and Damian to and from school. Trust me… you do NOT want the be the kid who comes in a limo every day.” Michael grinned and Damian just rolled his eyes. Finally, Alfred pulled over. “Alright. We’ll pick you both up here this afternoon.” Tim said, and Michael and Damian climbed out of the car and each looked at their respective schools, and sighed in resignation as the limo pulled away.

“If we want anyone dead…” Michael said slowly, and Damian glanced up him, “we kill each OTHER’S targets. To throw off the cops.”

“Tch… as if the police could catch either of us. Besides… if we kill someone…”

“I know, I know…” Michael sighed, grinning. “See you after school.” And he waved to Damian as the boy headed down the sidewalk towards Gotham Heights Elementary school a block away, and Michael hurried across the street to Gotham Heights High School.


	22. School

Michael stepped in the front door of Gotham Heights High School and looked around. Students filled the halls, laughing, talking, calling out to one another, staring at schedules clutched in their hands and finding their lockers. Classes didn’t start for another hour… Michael had to be there early because Damian started school half an hour earlier than he did, but he was okay with that... Damian would have to wait half an hour after school.

He made his way to the cafeteria, where many kids seemed to be gathering. One of the three lunch lines was open, and serving breakfast. Michael just made his way to an empty chair and flopped down, dropping his backpack onto the table and pulling out his schedule.

First up was Chemistry with Steele. Then came AP Language Arts with Dobranksi, Government with Ramirez, Algebra with Granger, and then lunch. After that it was World History with Fredericks, Gymnastics with MacClellan, and finally Psychology with Meyerson.

And then he just wanted to crawl back into bed. Now he was REALLY miffed that he wasn’t going to be homeschooled anymore. He wondered how Tim had managed to balance his dad, his school, AND being Robin before his dad died and he had dropped out of high school. Of course, Tim was also a genius with an eidetic memory... Michael felt pretty envious; HE would actually have to study.

Suddenly, the bell rang and Michael jerked awake. He hadn’t even realized he had dozed off. He glanced around, very self conscious, but no one was seeming to pay him any mind. After a moment’s hesitation where he considered playing hooky on his very first day, he gathered his backpack and joined the herd (very much like cattle, only more obnoxious, he realized) to make his way into the halls. He didn’t like it. Too many people around him, too many voices, too many smells! Perfumes, clognes, aftershave… a possible stink bomb. The smell of new clothes, new shoes, new everything… A whiff of leather as a well dressed guy walked past. Michael looked around… he was surrounded by yuppies and hipsters. 

There… his Chemistry classroom. He stepped in the door, immediately relaxing at the quiet buzz in the room as opposed to the dull roar of the hallways.

“Michael!” He looked up, startled. The boy from orientation, Noah, was waving. Michael noted that he had dyed his dreds red and dark blue. Next to him was the tan boy with golden brown hair. Michael didn’t remember his name… He took a deep breath and walked over, sitting down in the desk in front of Noah, looking more than a bit awkward.

“See you got the guts to show up.” Noah grinned. “You remember Seth?” And he jerked his head to indicate the boy next to him. Seth jerked his head in greeting and Noah said “He was just about to show me some killer tat he got last week!” Noah continued. “WITH parental consent.” He added when Michael quirked a brow.

Seth grinned, glanced around and then lifted his shirt. There was clear plastic wrap taped over his entire side to protect the healing tattoo, but despite the redness and inflammation, the bold pinks, yellows, blues and greens stood out. Tropical flowers decorated the image of the Hawaiian Islands that stretched from near his armpit down his ribs and almost to his hip.

“Nice!” Noah nodded, spotting the stylized compass just over Seth’s hip bone.

“You from Hawaii?” Michael asked, and Seth nodded, putting his shirt down before the teacher could come in and see.

“Moved here about two and a half years ago to stay with my Aunt.” Seth said.

“His dad was killed in action in Afghanistan when he was little.” Noah said, and Michael nodded his understanding.

“My mother and I don’t get along, so she sent me here while she and my little sisters live in Star City.” Seth said. Michael frowned at the bitterness in Seth’s tone.

“… Tell him the rest.” Noah said, seeing the look on Michael’s face.

Seth sighed, running a hand through his hair, which appeared to be dark brown at the roots, but bleached by the sun the further down it got. It fell wildly down to his jawline. “We left Hawaii after I was tried as an adult for the Attempted Murder of my step father, and Acquitted.” Seth said, and Michael’s eyes popped. “And then testified against my step father and had him sent to jail.”

“… What?!” Michael gasped.

“My step father was abusive. Beat my mom. Beat me… mom kept telling me not to worry about it, it wasn’t a big deal, told me not to tell or I would be taken away from her… but then I got home one day, I was supposed to be surfing, but didn’t feel good… and I caught my step father molesting my eight year old sister. I went after him with a knife. Neighbors heard the commotion, called the cops and I was arrested. My step father was in the hospital and nearly died. Turns out, he’d been molesting my twelve year old sister for several years. She spoke at my trial, jury decided that I was justified, defending my sisters, myself, my mother… she testified against me and ended up being charged with perjury later... I was only fourteen. But it had been such a big story, mom wanted to get us out of Hawaii, but wouldn’t take me along. My dad’s sister is here in Gotham and she offered to take me. She wanted to take my sisters, too… She doesn’t trust my mom’s judgment… but mom wouldn’t sign over custody.” And Seth just shrugged. 

“… How could your mom do that?” Michael blurted.

“Cuz she’s messed up?” Seth snorted. “My step father enabled her with her drug problems. She’s clean now, thank God. My sisters know to call me if they suspect that mom is using again…”

Michael opened his mouth to ask another question, but the teacher entered then, and the class quieted down.

“Alright people!” The tall man called, setting his satchel down on the desk. “Summer vacation is officially over.” Groans went around the room. “My condolences.” Drawled the teacher. “We’ll start with the usual…” And he picked up a piece of paper. “Brittany Ackerman?”

“Here.” A red head chirped. 

“Teigen Allenwood?”

Michael sighed and leaned back, propping his feet up on the book tray under the seat of the desk before him, still feeling sleepy. But he had a feeling that dozing off in the first five minutes of the first class of the school year would be frowned upon.

“Michael D’Ambrosio?”

Michael silently put up his hand, and the teacher checked off his name. A few moment later and he called “Noah Jacobs?” 

“Here.”

And two names after that, “Seth Makoa?”

“Here,” Seth answered, already doodling on a loose sheet of paper. At the end of roll call, the teacher, Coach Steele, passed out a copy of the syllabus for the year to the class, showing what they would be covering, and then began to pass out the large, thick Chemistry text books.

“Is there a copy we can get on our tablets?” One girl asked, fingering what appeared to be a genuine Diamond pendant on a golden chain around her neck.

“In the library.” Coach Steele announced. “You can download copies of any and all textbooks from there. The librarian can help you. You are required to keep the book until you show me that you have it on your tablet. Now, for our new students, homework is all done through your online portal. Your user name and temporary password are on your schedules. Log in tonight and change your password, and you can start accessing your assignments as your instructors make the available. You will also turn them in online. I understand that some of the teachers will place your tests online, open book. This is not the case in my class. You will take your tests here, in the class room, under my supervision, so I know it’s actually YOU taking them. If you do not do your work, and do not study, you will NOT pass my class.” And he gave them a firm glare.

From there, he launched into a lecture about the syllabus, and the behavior expected from the class as they would be working in the lab over the year with chemicals, some of which may be hazardous. He showed them all the protective gear and told them that they would be having a quiz the very next day on all safety rules and equipment. And by then the bell was ringing and the students were piling out of the room and heading to their next class.

“Michael! Meet us for lunch! Courtyard, corner, opposite the fountain!” Noah called over his shoulder as he and Seth headed away, leaving Michael to head in the opposite direction. Next was AP Language Arts. It went much like Chemistry. Roll was called, text books were passed out and the syllabus was discussed. Mrs. Dobranski also informed her students that she had a Zero Tolerance policy in regards to cell phones. If she saw one or heard one, she would confiscate it and the student could pick it up after the final bell of the school day. If she had to confiscate it a second time, she would be notifying their parents.

“What if we have a family situation?” One girl asked, looking annoyed.

“Then they can call the front office, who will get the message to you.” The teacher said firmly.

In Government class, that teacher had a very similar policy, and pointed out that it was in the Student Code of Conduct handbook, and clarified that it was a school rule. Cell phones were to be turned off as soon as the first bell rang, and were to stay off until the final bell. Students were permitted to check their phones at lunch, and lunch only. School WiFi was strictly monitored and only certain web sites were permitted. Michael was sure that a handful of the students, himself included, would easily be able to bypass the school’s security measures.

The Algebra teacher was a very colorful and eccentric lady who looked like she had gotten her wardrobe from a teenager in the eighties, with bangles, large glitzy earrings and a sparkly scrunchy that left her hair sticking out of the top of her head like a fountain and then falling down her back to almost reach her waist, in its chestnut brown, crimped and curled glory. But apparently it was all to lull the students into a false sense of security as she took roll, welcomed them to the new school year and then sprung a pop quiz on them to see how much they had retained over the summer. It was multiple choice, but Michael was quite sure he had done an abysmal job… He was less than thrilled when they were told to swap papers with the person behind them (the people in the back row passed their paper to the front) and Ms. Granger read out the answers while they graded their class mate’s quiz, and then handed them all in. 

The rest of the class she spent calling each student to her desk to give them their grade. Some of them were just a quick “good job” and they went back to their desk, some others took longer. Michael was one of the last students, and he was ready when she told him to have a seat.

“You didn’t do too well today, hm?” Ms. Granger said, a non-judgemental smile on her face. Michael shrugged.

“Not my strong point.”

“My papers say you’re a junior?”

“Yeah.”

“But you’re fifteen?”

“Sixteen in October.” Michael nodded.

“Okay… so, this is a Sophomore class. So you’ll be taking the Junior class when you’re a senior. You should still graduate fine, seniors don’t have to take a math course. Some do calculus, depending on their plans for after graduation. You’ll be at a bit of a disadvantage there.”

“I’m not concerned.”

“How were your grades at your previous school?”

“Home schooled.”

“And what were your reviews like?”

“… Huh?”

“Your parents should have been reporting your educational progress to the government, who would have sent reviews on where you are and where you would be expected to be.”

“My family lived off the grid.” Michael mumbled. “Avoided the government.”

“This is a big change for you, then.” She said. “What made them decide to send you to public school?”

“… They died.” Michael growled, now becoming annoyed with this overly cheerful, nosy teacher. “It was my Guardian’s decision. I would rather NOT be here.” A horrorstruck look overcame her and he could feel the guilt radiating off of her as she awkwardly averted her eyes from his glare.

“I see… I’m sorry to hear that. We’ll get you through this class just fine. If you ever have any trouble, that’s what I’m here for.” She said softly. Michael just nodded and stood, returning to his seat and holding back the urge to punch something as he went. He was more than ready for another attempt to talk Dick into letting him continue to homeschool. Common sense, however, told him that if Damian was going to public school (talk about Russian Roulette) then there was no way Michael would be able to get out of it.

Michael was out of his seat before the bell rang and was halfway to the door by the time it did. The teacher was frowning after him, but looked like she wasn’t sure about calling him out on it. Michael was gone before she had decided. He headed for the cafeteria, glancing at the menu for the week as he passed, getting into line. He was one of the first students there, and was able to collect his chicken nuggets, mashed potatoes and green beans rather quickly, and then headed out to find Noah and his friends. 

Noah seemed to have brought his lunch and was already sitting there with Seth, and the boy that Michael recalled as Caleb, and the red headed girl, Shannon. Seth and Noah waved as Michael approached, and Shannon and Caleb eyed him in interest. Michael went to perch on the low branch of the wide tree they were sitting by, but Caleb announced “Don’t. You’ll get in trouble.” Michael paused, and then slowly moved to sit cross legged on the ground instead.

“How are your classes?” Noah asked, already grinning at the look on Michael’s face.

“I’m ready for home schooling again, please.” Michael snorted, and Seth snickered. “That Algebra teacher is a nightmare.”

“Who do you have?” Shannon asked.

“Granger.” Michael said.

“Oh damn.” Said the boy with bright green eyes, pale skin and long, violently red hair. He sat down next to Michael, who remembered him as kid who had been playing the “air drums”, but didn’t remember his name. “She’s off her freakin’ rocker, man. My sympathies.”

“Sympathies?” Asked the blonde haired boy as he sat down by Shannon. “Who died?”

“New kid has Granger.” Said the ginger.

“Fuck, my sympathies.” Blondie said, nodding to Michael, who was unable to hold back a smile. The circle on the ground was nearly complete, with only one opening. Shannon kept looking back over her shoulder, and then perked for a moment before relaxing and digging into her lunch. 

A girl was approaching the group. She was tiny, barely five feet tall, and looked more than a bit put out. She wore fishnet stockings, black converse with purple laces that came up to her knees, a black skirt with a frayed hem that was JUST long enough to meet dress code requirements, a studded belt, a corset and a purple long sleeved t-shirt with lacy black sleeves that flared at the elbow and was meant to drape dramatically. She wore fingerless leather gloves, numerous rubber bracelets that went halfway to her elbows and was carrying a black leather jacket covered in straps and buckles over her arm, her black backpack covered in stitched on patches in the other hand. She had several earrings in each ear, a stud in her left nostril, a ring in her left eyebrow, two in the right, and had very short, black hair that was spiked wildly in every direction. Completing everything was the heavy black eyeliner and dark purple lipstick. She plopped down, completing the circle, and then raised her hand and proclaimed “Welcome back, guys. Heil, Hitler.”

The others laughed into their lunches as she pulled out what appeared to be a bento box and a pair of chopsticks and began to eat what appeared to be Chinese leftovers.

“Who’s Michael Jackson?”

“… Excuse me?” Michael blurted, eyebrows quirking up. 

“Michael, this is Shell.” Noah grinned. “Shell, Michael. Seriously, his name is Michael.”

“… Hn.” Shell grunted, eyeing him up and down as she ate her lunch. “Rich kid?”

“I dunno.” Noah asked with a shrug.

“What?” Michael asked.

“Half the kids here are rich assholes who lord over the rest of us that they’re rich.” Said Ginger, who Michael suddenly recalled was Adam.

“Oh. Um… I dunno…” Michael mumbled, flushing. “I mean… I’M not rich. Neither were my parents…”

“And?” Shell asked.

“I um… well, my guardian, I guess…” Michael continued. “He travels a lot so I actually live with HIS adopted father…”

“And?” Noah prompted. 

“Uh… I uh… I live with uh… Bruce Wayne.”

The explosion of shouts made everyone in the courtyard turn and stare.

“How the hell did YOU end up with Bruce Wayne?!” Seth hissed excitedly under his breath.

Michael sighed, calmly rehearsing the story in his head before reciting, “My legal guardian is Dick Grayson. Bruce adopted him a while back, but he was Bruce’s Ward after his parents were killed during a circus performance… mob sabotage or something... happened here in Gotham so you guys would probably know more than me on the subject... Well… My dad knew Dick. He was in the circus for a while, too. When my parents died, an old Will was uncovered naming Dick my Guardian. But since Dick travels a lot, it was decided that my permanent residence would be with Bruce.”

“So those ARE brand new clothes, then.” Said Shell, narrowing her eyes. “And shoes. And phone, and backpack…”

“Uh, yeah.” Michael said, narrowing his eyes right back at her and taking up a deadly cold tone. “I kind of escaped the fire with nothing but the clothes on my back. Nothing was left. So everything I have is new.”

“A fire?” Noah asked. “You said it was a home invasion gone bad.”

“It was.” Michael said, eating a chicken nugget. “A home invasion gone VERY bad.” And then, because he knew it would come up eventually, and he might as well start rehearsing, he lifted his shirt and let them see the still-new scar on his abdomen. 

“What the fuck is THAT?!” Shannon gasped.

“That’s where I took a bullet.” Michael said simply, digging into his lunch. “If I hadn’t been shot, maybe I could have…” And he trailed off. The group was silent.

“… Nice going, Shell.” Noah said coldly after a moment. She scowled and averted her eyes, then mumbled “excuse me while I take my foot out of my mouth.”

“I don’t think it’s in there anymore, Shell.” Shannon said, giving her a look. “I think you full on swallowed it. So, Michael…” He looked at her. “You were pretty good the other day. After orientation.”

“Thanks.” Michael said. “It had been a while since I’d played.”

“You’re not bad.” Noah nodded, drinking his grape juice. “But I swear to God, Shannon, if you are askin’ my boy here to join your damned Glee Club…” 

Shannon gave him a look, saying “It’s Show Choir—“

“Yeah, Glee Club.”

“—and we NEED more guys!”

“Uh, thanks, but no thanks.” Michael snickered. “I’ve done enough performances.”

“Oh?” She asked.

“My little cousins roped me into a lot of stuff. And a lot from the TV show, ‘GLEE’. I was one of two guys over thirteen, so guess who the girls came to when they wanted to do a duet or something? It was fun, but it’s NOT my thing and… um… I just don’t think I can…” He sighed. “It wasn’t just my parents. It was a lot of my family, and the survivors, are… well, I don’t know where.”

“Wait, what?” Noah asked, eyes widening. Michael sighed, eating his last chicken nugget and taking several gulps of soda.

“Okay, this will take some explaining. My family, they weren’t all my biological family. There was a group of us, a little town, just under a hundred people. Full families. It was a… Free Thinking, Holistic, spiritual community. Off the grid. A lot of the locals thought we were a cult. We weren’t!” He blurted, seeing their faces. “We actually had a lot of religions. Some Christian, one family was Jewish, one Shinto, two Wiccan families, some Muslim, some atheist. My mom was atheist. My dad was Roman Catholic.”

“And you’re Roman Catholic.” Seth pointed out, glancing at the St. Michael medal on Michael’s chest.

“Roman Catholic Lite.”

“What church do you go to?” Shannon asked.

“Oh. I don’t. I never have. We stayed on our compound. I learned everything from my dad and the others.”

“What were you taught? Creationism or Evolution?” Shannon asked.

“Both.” Michael responded, looking slightly harassed now, not sure he was comfortable with the grilling he was getting. “If anything, we believed in the freedom to learn all aspects, come to our own conclusions and believe what we would.”

“Wow.”

“Are you on Facebook?” Shell asked.

“I—what?” Michael blurted, not expecting this, especially from Shell. “… No.”

“Twitter? Instagram? SnapChat? Vine?”

“No.”

“Do you USE Social Media?”

“… No. Off the grid, remember?” Michael said, shoving the rest of his potatoes into his mouth.

“Come on, guys, let the man eat!” Noah scolded.

“Okay. So what’s got YOU all pissy today?” Shell shot back, and he glared, then rolled his eyes.

“If you MUST know, mom has said that I either need to get involved in a club or team at school or get an after school job.” 

“… Money issues?” Shannon asked hesitantly.

“No. Since her promotion, things have been a lot better.” Noah said, sounding relieved. 

“She still trying to talk you into going to Gotham U next year?” Asked Caleb.

“No. I mean, she wants me to, but she understands why enlisting means so much to me.” Noah said.

“Still dead set on being a Marine, huh?” Shell asked.

“Damn straight.” Noah nodded.

“And you?” Shell asked, looking at Seth.

“Coast Guard all the way!” He said with a grin.

“Airforce.” Caleb said, raising his hand that was clutching his peanut butter sandwich.

“No way!” The others blurted.

“When did you decide this?!” Adam demanded to know.

“Over summer.”

“Uhg! Government attack dogs! You disgust me, all of you!” Shell snapped, but she was grinning. Noah chuckled and looked down at Caleb.

“You sure they’ll take you, squirt?”

“Fuck off, Noah.” Caleb snorted, smacking Noah’s hand away as the largest boy of the group went to poke and tease the smaller. Noah laughed and started smacking at Caleb, who tried to fend off his hands, swearing the whole time. Noah finally managed to snag the long braid that Caleb wore down his back (which made Michael miss his own).

“Knock it off!” Caleb howled, finally walloping Noah in the shoulder with a biology text book.

“Ow!” Noah laughed. “No need to get violent, Kemosabe!”

“Noah, I swear to God, if you call me that one more time—“

“Boys, behave.” Shannon sighed. Shell just grinned. Michael blinked and looked at Seth.

“You get used to it.” He told Michael. “We natives get restless!” And he threw a baby carrot from his lunch at Noah.

“Hey!” Noah howled in mock protest, blocking the carrot.

“Dude!” Complained Blondie when the carrot went into his pudding.

“Sorry, Collin.” Noah said, snickering. 

‘That’s right,’ Michael thought to himself. ‘Collin. The blonde is Collin. The red head is Adam. Seth is Hawaiian, Caleb looks like he’s American Indian… wonder what tribes were in this part of the country? Noah is God knows what… Shannon… she and Collin are twins. Fraternal, they look pretty different… Hm…’ He looked around at the group he seemed to have been included in. ‘… Shell has a slight accent. Brooklyn?’

He was brought out of his train of thought by the bell; lunch was over. The others were packing their things and so he followed suite, and was soon heading to World History with Noah, Seth


End file.
